Second Star to the Right
by TearStainedAshes
Summary: The darkness continues to grip Sherlock and John tight. Sherlock is broken, John's beating heart is damaged, and no one's life will ever be the same. Sherlock knows that those without hope don't dream, but maybe, just maybe, he can follow the stars back to where he belongs: in John's arms. Sequel to "Faith, Trust, and Pixie Dust." Co-written w/ MJCF. Warning: v. dark elements.
1. The Demons that Haunt Us

Hello everyone! Surprise, surprise! Martin-J-Christopher-Freeman (formerly InvisibleBlade) and I have talked it over and we've decided to publish this early! She's handling the AO3 side and I'm doing this side.

Yes, InvisibleBlade changed her name. She accidentally deleted her blog and has had to restart from scratch, so she got a new URL and a new name. She is now Martin-J-Christopher-Freeman! Yes, she is now Martin. An angry little hedgehog. Though she's more like a fluffy kitten. Hehe ^_^  
She does still have the URL moriartysinvisibleblade, but she uses it for her creative writing blog now.

MJCF: Sherlock, Sebastian Moran, Daddy Holmes  
TSA: John, Mycroft, Greg

**MAJOR WARNINGS AHEAD**

**THIS CHAPTER IS VERY DARK AND DISTURBING. TRIGGER WARNINGS FOR TORTURE, RAPE, FORCE FEEDING, AND ALL SORTS OF DISGUSTING THINGS. THIS IS A VERY FUCKED UP FIRST CHAPTER AND I AM SO SORRY. CONSIDER YOURSELVES WARNED. THIS FIC IS GOING TO BE DARKER THAN THE FIRST AND IT WILL STAY DARK FOR QUITE A WHILE. CONSIDER YOURSELVES WARNED.**

* * *

**The Personal Blog of Dr John H Watson**

May 20

He was my best friend, and I'll always believe in him.

[comments]

**Harry W**: call me, please. i just wanna talk

**Mike S**: I'm sorry mate. Any time you want to chat feel free to call.

**...::-::...**

May 31

Just a quick update, I suppose.

Seems Greg and Mycroft are going ahead and having a summer wedding. Since Sherlock isn't here anymore, I'm gonna be Myc's best man. Some bloke from the Yard is gonna be Greg's. I'm not giving out the date to respect their privacy. I don't even know why I'm posting this really. I guess it's to keep my therapist happy.

**...::-::...**

The wedding was held a month and a half after Sherlock's fall. It was a private wedding, small, personal. It was lonely. John didn't talk to anyone much those days. Everyone only ever wanted to talk about Sherlock. He didn't want to talk about Sherlock. He didn't want to relive that day any more than he already did every night. He was alone, bar the cat, but he didn't have anyone to talk to. Sure, he had Greg and Mike and sometimes Bill, but they weren't who he wanted to talk to.

He visited Sherlock as often as he could given his busy work schedule. Sometimes, on rainy days, he would arrive to discover an umbrella propped over the headstone. He would smile softly, thanking Mycroft silently. On better days he would set up a blanket and pour them each a glass of wine, dumping Sherlock's into the earth when they were finished. He would tell Sherlock all about Lily and how she cried every night, waiting for her daddy to come home. He would tell him about Mycroft's progress, and how big his own kitten was getting. His 'official' name was Ty, a nickname for Little Tyke, but John knew Mycroft called him Sherlock. He'd overheard him talking to him once and it had brought tears to his eyes. Everyone had their ways of coping. Myc had the cat, Greg had work, and John had... Huh. What did he have? Oh, that's right. He was bottling up his emotions until they exploded.

The wedding was actually quite beautiful. It was short, sweet, and to the point. And now Greg was no longer a Lestrade. Now he was a Holmes. John glanced down at the ring he still wore and swallowed. He would have been a Holmes by now if things had been different.

The reception was calm and collected, not a hair out of place. The food was scrumptious and far too fancy for John's palate. But when it came time for gifts, that was when John lost it.

Someone had given Mycroft a new pocket watch. Silver, gorgeous, expensive. And inscribed in the top? Gallifreyan for 'family.' Now who else would give Mycroft a Gallifreyan pocket watch other than Sherlock? John cried and screamed and had to be dragged away from the small gathering by security.

**...::-::...**

**The Personal Blog of Dr John H Watson**

June 16

The wedding was a disaster.

[comments disabled]

**...::-::...**

For a while Sherlock found himself watching his loved ones from a safe distance. He kept a constant eye on John's blog, smiling and laughing at some posts, and crying a waterfall of tears at others. He watched as Lily pined and John grieved. He chuckled as he saw the officers at the Yard struggling without him but frowned when he saw how much pressure was now being put on Greg's shoulders. He longed for his cases. He longed to be home. He longed for a life that he knew he could no longer have. At least not for a very long time.

He sadly looked on each time his brother placed his umbrella over his fake body's gravestone. Mycroft would often stand there for hours, just talking, getting sopping wet in the rain. Sherlock worried for him. He didn't want him getting ill again. It was the times that John came to the gravestone that Sherlock really had a hard time coping with. John's words always sliced through him like a butcher's knife. He was half tempted to come out of hiding in those moments. He wondered what John would do. Would he do anything? Or would he simply think it was a trick his grieving mind was playing on him? Sherlock never got to find out. He always found a reason for him to not return to John just yet.

_You'll put him in danger, Sherlock Holmes._

_He won't forgive you._

_Let him grieve and forget you._

_Let him move on to a life where he can finally be with someone normal._

He was there at his brother's and Greg's wedding and found a wave of warmth wash over him as he witnessed the happy and momentous occasion. He took a big risk in buying them both a present. A Gallifreyan engraved pocket watch. It simply stated 'family.' He hadn't thought about the repercussions of doing so properly and when John broke down so did Sherlock. Watching John break down was like physically seeing a part of his soul slowly dying. It had taken everything in his will power to not scream out. He had simply slipped away from the reception, unseen. That night he had wanted to write an anonymous comment on John's blog post but the comments were disabled. So instead Sherlock scribbled on a piece of paper and posted it through the door of 221B.

_I believe in John Watson. _

After that, Sherlock made the quick decision to leave London. He'd heard that America was a nice place this time of year. He might go there. It was likely that Moriarty had some connections there. Perhaps he could build up a good relationship with the homeless of America, like he had done in London. It may come in handy. It was difficult to get to America, however, as he was so well known by now. He was known as the fake detective. He had to change his whole identity. He pulled on a baggy pair of jeans, a thick hoody, and a cap. No one recognised him now. It was simple to sneak on board with his fake ID.

When he finally got to America he did indeed get to know a majority of its homeless as he flitted about the vast country constantly. He sought out quite a few of Moriarty's men, killing them without a second thought, but not before he interrogated them to find out where there were others. As time progressed he realised that Moriarty's web was thicker and stretched out wider than he ever could have imagined. He travelled across the world, causing quite a bit of mayhem on the way. A good few months in and he had almost demolished the more worrying side of the web. The others could wait their turn. But then Sherlock met Sebastian Moran and his entire life was turned upside down and back to front.

"Met" was a rather lose word. Perhaps kidnapped was far more accurate. He was forced into a box and shipped all the way to god knows where, but instinct told him he was back in London. Then things became a bit of a blur.

**...::-::...**

Sherlock was shrouded in a thick blanket of darkness, and for one sweeping moment he actually considered the possibility that he really was dead now. A sharp pain jolting through his body told his brain that he was still very much alive. The dead didn't feel pain. He hissed and tried to recoil from the feeling of something slicing into his body. After realising that he couldn't actually move as he was restrained, the panic began to set in. Blood was beginning to pump from his leg at a frightening pace. It was silent at first, apart from his futile pleas for the torture to stop and the slick sound of a knife ripping open his skin. Then there came the voice. The voice was venomous and obviously belonged to his torturer.

'Tick tock goes the clock, and Sherlock bleeds a little faster. Tick tock goes the clock, I am the detective's master.'

'Piss off,' he managed to choke out, pushing past his pain.

'Shut the fuck up!'

Sherlock flinched and a small whimper escaped his lips and fell into the darkness.

'Who – who are you?' His voice was small now, a whisper, pathetic. For that question he earned a right hook from the man who was looming somewhere in the pitch black. He cried out as his nose began to spurt a thick mass of blood.

'You'll learn not to talk. Understood? I do the talking here.' A thick and meaty hand ran its fingers over Sherlock's bloody and broken nose. A thumb and a middle finger clasp his nose and suddenly there was a loud click. Sherlock screamed. His nose had been put back in its rightful place, causing a fresh spurt of blood to tunnel out of his nostrils.

'I am Sebastian Moran.' The voice sounded even deadlier now. 'And I am going to make you rue the day that you killed James Moriarty.'

'I didn't–'

The meaty hand slapped him across his right cheek bone. 'What did I say about keeping that pretty mouth of yours bloody shut!?' Sherlock swallowed and instantly regretted doing so. The blood from his nose had run down onto his lips and into his mouth. All he could taste now was the tangy taste of the red liquid spilling over his taste buds.

'I loved him!' the man, or Sebastian as he had called himself, roared at the top of his lungs. 'I loved him! And you fucking killed him! And what? You thought you could outsmart the world into thinking you're dead!? Well, listen here sunshine. By the time I'm done with you you're gonna wish you really did take the bloody fall!'

The big meaty hand began to wipe something across the wound on his leg. Salt, his brain informed him as his eyes rolled into the back of his head and his body thrashed about manically.

**...::-::...**

'How's my dirty little whore today?' Sherlock hissed as he felt a large object being forced up into his arse. He yelled out and struggled but then the object started to vibrate and dear lord, he became an aroused mess.

'Is my dirty little whore going to be alright?'

That was the last he heard from Sebastian for a long time, and for all of that time he was left aroused with an incapability of gaining any kind of release.

Pleased with the results of his little experiment, Sebastian Moran began to use that torture method frequently. Several times Sherlock had been forced to moan out his captor's name whilst thrashing about like a hormonal teenager trying to rut against thin air.

**...::-::...**

Time was non-existent here. It was as endless as the bottomless pit of darkness Sherlock was trapped in. He was barely aware of anything now other than pain. In his mind he had begun to rate the pain, one being bearable, and ten being utterly intolerable. The ones were becoming rarer now as his torturer got more and more inventive with his torture tactics. By now Sherlock's mind was beginning to drift. His mind palace had started putting up defences to try and protect him. Sherlock knew however that his mind would finally snap under the pressure, especially because it was starting to delete every horrific thing that had happened to him, or was happening to him. Soon his mind was deleting at such a rapid rate that Sherlock was concerned that it was going to start deleting the really important things in his life. Like John. He couldn't forget John. No. Not his John. His wonderful John.

One time, when he was finally left alone, he reached his long and bony fingers out to grab a sharp stone. Twiddling it in his fingers he began to scratch a word into his palm. It was messy from the angle he was writing from and hurt, but it was nothing compared to the pain he was used to.

_REMEMBER _

'What the fuck do you think you're doing?' Sebastian spat into his face. A large dollop of the spit landed on Sherlock's cheek and rested there, sinking into the hollowed out space that months of starvation had replaced his cheekbones with. His wrist was yanked and tugged and the word was inspected. The man made a loud scoffing sound.

'"Remember?" Oh. I see. You don't want to forget your dear Johnny Boy. Really? Must you be so delightfully obvious?'

'No!' Sherlock cried out, his voice hoarse from screaming. 'Leave my John alone!'

'What? Like you left my Jim alone?! No chance!' There was the sound of shuffling in the dark and then a knife was gliding across his skin once more. It was a feeling he had practically become accustomed to. 'Perhaps we should give you some more words to help you remember, hmmm?' Sherlock merely swallowed thickly and closed his eyes, the knife sketching words into his skin to form thick and bloody scars. His mind palace began to frantically delete every feeling, and every wave of pain and the nausea that followed.

_Fuck up _

'This one's so you don't forget how much of a fuck up you really are. Your father beat you as a child. Talking of your father, he's not very happy with you. You killed his favourite son. He wants some of his own revenge. I'll be sure to send him over after I've finished with you today.'

_Pig_

'This one is for that Lestrade fella. Filthy pig's put some very good friends of mine away in his time.'

_Freak_

'Your dear old daddy already marked you with this one but I thought I'd mark you with it again, just in case you'd forgotten how much of a freak you are.'

_Monster_

'Monster! You're a fucking monster! You killed Jim! You killed Jim and you left his body on the ground!'

_Creature_

'Sherlock, oh Sherlock. My creature. My beautiful, fucked up creature.'

_Fraud_

'You need to understand something. Your life was a lie. You're no genius. You are a fraud. I read it in the papers so it must be true.'

_Fat_

'This one's for Mycroft. Oh you should see him now, Sherlock. He's so plump. He's burst through at least two pairs of trousers. And he just keeps on eating. It just goes to show. He never really cared about you. Not if he's celebrating each and every day with cakes, and buffets, and dear lord all of those beautifully, wonderfully fatty wines.'

_Damaged_

'This one's for your dear old John. Oh, Sherlock. You've devastated him. You made him fall in love with you and then you went and faked your death. He's damaged beyond repair now. So lonely, so damaged, so broken. Oh, he's just so juicy, filled with sorrow and woe.'

_Hag_

'Let's not forget that stupid old hag of yours back at the flat. What's her name? Mrs Hudson? Stupid old bat, she is, letting a little boy like you into her life.'

_Desperate_

'Desperate. Hmmm. That Molly Hooper girl. She'll do anything she can to be a part of your life. Anything at all. I know she's covering up for you. Wouldn't it be an awful bloody shame if the truth came spilling out? Oh, don't look like that. I've got far bigger plans for you.'

**...::-::...**

The rare times he managed to fall asleep he dreamt of being back at 221B. He could smell fresh bacon and tea rising up through his nostrils. It made a nice change to the usual stench of his own faeces mixed in with blood and sweat. Here there was laughter. Lily was chasing after her pink mousy. He and John were lazing in bed, just simply holding each other for the sake of it. They were finally happy at peace with the world.

The trouble with dreams, Sherlock conceded, was that you always had to wake up. Every time he was awake he was alone and in the knowledge that everyone, bar Molly who had sworn to keep his secret, didn't know that he was alive. No one was looking for him. And why would they? He was dead to them. Their lives were probably moving on smoothly without any of the shit Sherlock usually brought to their lives.

_I'm going to die here and no one will really mourn me, because they will have moved on, thinking I'm dead already. They will have already mourned. _

Sherlock was convinced he was going to rot in the hell hole he'd been dragged into.

**...::-::...**

A pipe was being forced past his plump lips, bruising them badly, and down into throat, almost choking him. It was pushed further down his throat, leading straight down to his empty belly. And then the liquid came, the vile liquid that tasted like piss that had been weakened down. The taste almost made him gag there and then. It pooled down into his belly slowly but surely over a period of what must have been hours. By the time the liquid stopped flowing down his throat his belly was massively extended, to the point of excruciating pain. His stomach was making noises that went beyond a bit not good.

'Hello son.' The pipe was tugged from his throat and a hand that held far too much familiarity was pushing down on his aching belly. 'What? Cat got your tongue?' The voice sent shudders through Sherlock's spine and reduced him to a little boy, whimpering in the night. The hand pushed down heavily and Sherlock found himself throwing up two gallons of watered down piss. It tasted even more awful coming up than it had going down.

'Don't you see, son? This is symbolic. The moment you were born I have been nothing but pissed on. Time to get a taste of your own medicine, hey?'

**...::-::...**

After that his father visited him daily. He beat him and scarred him, and violated his body. It was like reliving his childhood all over again. Every time Sherlock's father turned up he was forced to once again drink piss till he vomited. It became something he dreaded more than any other method of torture.

**...::-::...**

He was genuinely happy when Sebastian Moran returned to him. It meant his father would take a backseat and he wouldn't have to drink piss flavored water. By this time his mind had deteriorated so much that he was becoming lost within himself. Sherlock Holmes the world's only consulting detective, was slowly but surely being erased. That man was being replaced by a frightened little boy who was silently screaming for his brother in the dark. Memories danced before his eyes before vanishing into a vaporised mist. He no longer dreamed of home and John. He no longer dreamed of happiness or escape. He no longer dreamed, in fact. Only people who had hope dreamed.

**...::-::...**

His manicured nails were ripped from him, one by one. Each time one was tugged away a shot of fiery pain traveled up his spine and caused his body to spasm.

'Croft!' he yelled out for his brother, tears brimming in his eyes. He just wanted his big brother to save him, to make the pain stop, to scoop him up in his arms and read Treasure Island to him. His brother wasn't coming. He was alone.

**...::-::...**

The white noise scratched at his ears. It reminded him of the time where Croft was trying to teach him the violin. It had started badly and Sherlock hadn't been able to piece one note together. Except this time it was so much worse. There was no violin and he had no control over the sound. His head became a throbbing and pounding mess and he threw up almost constantly, despite having very little to throw up.

**...::-::...**

'You're no fun anymore, Sherlock Holmes. Have I broken you?'

Sherlock blinked and there was laughter.

'Oh. So I have broken you? Good. Well, there's one last thing I need to do before I return you to your fat pig of a brother, and the filthy cop he's with.' Sebastian brought out the knife he used on Sherlock every single time. It was now stained in the detective's blood. He carved out a large smiley face on Sherlock's right shoulder.

'Perfection, don't you think?'

Sherlock blinked again but other than that he was completely unresponsive. He hadn't even flinched.

Sebastian bundled Sherlock up in his old trench coat, nothing more. Beneath that Sherlock was naked, covered in dried vomit, blood, and faeces. Some of his wounds had gone septic and were oozing puss. Sebastian let out a loud hum. It was safe to say that the detective had paid a fair price for the murder of James Moriarty.

He quickly scrawled a note out to Mycroft and shoved it into one of Sherlock's coat pockets. Perfect.

_Failed in protecting either brother, dear me. You should have been there for Jim and you should have allowed this waste of space to die._

_Sherlock's pain is your fault._

_Jim's death is your fault._

_Seb X_

Bundling Sherlock up into the back of a van, gagged and blindfolded, Sebastian made sure to drive all the way over to the elder Holmes' mansion. He grabbed the traumatised and lifeless detective and tossed him over the large gates in front of the house so he landed on the ground with an ear splitting crack. One of the staff was sure to find him, if not Mycroft Holmes himself. What they'd find would be a horrible sight.

The detective was barely recognisable anymore. He was rake thin, so much so that he was literally just bones. His skin was pulled so tightly against him that it was almost translucent. You could see the veins pulsing below. His skin was covered in so much dirt, blood, sick, and faeces that there wasn't a patch of alabaster coloured skin left. His hair was long, matted and had grown all the way down to his shoulders, and was now stuck up in massive clumps where his blood had stuck it together. And then, of course, there were the words and the pictures carved into his skin in large, bulky writing. And just for good measure Sebastian had shoved a vibrator up the detective's arse and had put it on its highest setting so that he was shaking with arousal and making the most beautiful moaning sounds.

The physical changes, however, would be the least of their worries.

Wounds can be healed, but can minds be fixed? Especially a mind like Sherlock's? Sebastian Moran had his money on definitely not.

* * *

I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry. MJCF wrote the big torture scene with Sherlock and Moran and Daddy Holmes. I just wrote the beginning with John having a breakdown. Oh god. I feel so bad. *runs and hides*

We've decided that until things are settled and we have a bit of a regular schedule worked out, we'll update on Saturdays. So, I guess we'll see you all then.

Once again, sorry for such a dark opening chapter. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. *runs and hides under blankets*

TSA + MJCF


	2. The Familiar Paths We Walk Down

Hello everyone! MJCF has already updated this over on AO3, so now I'm doing my part and updating it here as well. Here's a note from her:

_Hi everyone,_

_I'm not feeling too well today but I figured I made a promise to upload the next chapter to this fic, and I like to keep my promises. I hope you enjoy this chapter._

**_Warnings for this chapter: Mentions of cutting/ self harm, John using sex as a distraction from Sherlock's "death", quite a graphic image of Sherlock covered in blood and faeces with a dildo still up his arse from his time being tortured, descriptions of Sherlock's injuries, and Sherlock's mind reverting into a childlike state._**

_There are actually some very fluffy moments in this fic but you have to get past all of the angst and pain first. I assume if you're reading this fic you like how painful our writing is..._

_Till next Saturday!_

_MJCF_

So yeah, this chapter is still very dark. I can't remember how long this goes on for, but Sherlock thinks he's a child for quite a while. You'll get some fluffy kid!lock mixed in with the angst and despair, so don't fret. It might be brief, but it's there.

MJCF: Sherlock  
Me: brief mention of John  
Shared: Mycroft, Greg, medical staff

* * *

After the wedding, everything went downhill for John. The limp came back and he had to use his cane for the first time in three years. The tremor in his hand reappeared and sometimes made working quite difficult. He started drinking again, but he was at least smart enough to do it in public and not at the flat. Most times rather than not, he would wake up in a stranger's bed, smelling of sex, semen, perfume, and sometimes cologne. He would ditch them before they even woke up, heading home to scrub himself pink in the shower, then mope on the sofa with Lily close by.

After he'd had enough of fucking random strangers, he made a pact to remain celibate for as long as he could. He figured he couldn't last forever, but he'd do his best to hold out. He'd gained a reputation around that time, and whenever he went out he was always getting propositions from men and women alike. Sometimes the men didn't like it when he said no, and a scuffle took place in the alley. But John was almost always victorious.

He took up smoking again and he absolutely hated himself for it. He had been having lung problems back when Sherlock was alive, and now he was only making them worse. The cutting was when he realised he'd fallen back into old habits. He didn't have specific reasons for his cuts anymore, he just cut to cut. It wasn't until he started seeing things again that he started worrying about his sanity. But by then he knew he was crazy with grief, and it was far too late to do anything about it.

**...::-::...**

Back at Mycroft's mansion, his cat (now no longer a kitten) had been acting up all day.

'What's wrong, Sher?' he'd asked him. The cat had run to the front door and pawed against it. Myc thought he wanted to go outside, but it was pouring rain out. He should make a trip to his brother's grave, make sure he was safe and dry. He'd spent a small fortune on replacing his umbrellas already, why stop now?

He opened the door slowly and Sher poked his nose through the opening, sniffing the air. He meowed loudly but nothing happened. Then he heard it. A loud groan.

'Hello?' Myc called out. 'Is someone out there?' There was no reply. 'Probably some homeless bugger.' He closed the door and returned to his study, reading through his papers. Apparently the Americans were in a tizzy because a lot of their major businessmen had been killed within a few months. That was enough to raise suspicion, and Mycroft had decided to look into it personally. He wasn't sure why, but he felt something pulling him toward the case.

Case. That's exactly what Sherlock would have called it. He shook his head of the thought and dove in, occasionally lowering his hand for Sher to rub against for some fuss.

Sherlock was getting drenched to the bone in the heavy downpour of rain. A dirty red puddle was forming around him as some of the crud that he was caked in swilled away. His breathing was shallow and his fragile body was curled in on itself. His body was slowly shutting down. The only thing that kept him conscious was the vibrator still on full power.

Greg arrived home from work a few hours later, pulling into the drive and rushing inside to get out of the rain. Once inside he shook himself free of water droplets and hug up his coat. He found Myc in his study, petting the cat while reading files. He kissed him briefly to let him know he was home and then went back downstairs to fix himself something to eat. One of the men from Mycroft's security team approached him and informed him that there was someone sprawled on the ground past the gate. Greg groaned and decided to investigate. It wouldn't be the first time someone had deposited a body on their front lawn. He put his coat back on and grabbed an umbrella, heading out into the downpour to see what was up.

The poor sod was lying face down in a puddle of dirt, blood, piss, and most likely faeces going by the smell. He appeared to only be wearing a coat, completely naked underneath. Something was vibrating as well. Further inspection revealed there to be a massive vibrating dildo shoved up the poor bloke's arse. Greg frowned but made no move to remove it. He wasn't wearing gloves and didn't want to tamper with the evidence. He asked the gloved security man to turn the body over so he could see what they were dealing with.

As soon as the man was on his back Greg's heart stopped in his chest. Those cheekbones, that coat, those unmistakable Cupid's bow lips... It was Sherlock. Or someone had gone to great lengths to make it look like Sherlock. He gently moved a chunk of hair off the man's face and burst into tears. It was Sherlock. It was. It had to be. But had he been dug from his grave and deposited there? No. Oh my god. He was breathing. He was breathing! Sherlock was alive?!

'Get him inside now! He's still alive! And I need a medical team stat!' he told the security guard. The man nodded and hoisted the body in his arms, taking him to the spare bedroom and punching in the code for the medical team. Greg rushed upstairs and back to Mycroft, his eyes wide with a mixture of emotions.

'Good lord Gregory. What has gotten into you?'

'Myc, you're gonna want to see this.'

'See what?'

'Sherlock... He's alive.'

Sherlock had burst into a bout of screaming. He didn't like this place. It was strange. Who were these people?! What did they want with him?!

'Croft!' he roared. 'Croft!'

'A-alive?' Mycroft swallowed. 'No. That can't be. I saw the body–'

'It was obviously fake because your little brother is downstairs right now.' Sherlock's screams backed him up and Mycroft was up like a shot, dashing for the spare room.

Sherlock was indeed in there, crying for his brother like a small child would. Mycroft rushed forward and wrapped his shaking brother up in his arms, crying softly.

'It's ok, Lock. It's ok. I'm here. I'm here.'

Sherlock lashed out at the man holding him as jolts of pain overtook his body.

'No! Fafer! Leth me go!'

'I'm not father, Locky,' Mycroft sobbed softly. 'It's me, it's Croft. It's me.'

'No!' Sherlock punched his father weakly across the jaw. 'You're Fafer! Leath me awone!'

'Sherlock!' Greg stepped in and took Sherlock off Mycroft's lap, laying him down on the bed, being mindful of the marks he could see and the dildo up his arse.

'Sherlock,' he said in a softer voice. 'Don't hit your brother. It's not nice. He was only trying to make you feel better.'

Sherlock stared at the other man with wild blue eyes, his nostrils flaring. He decided after a few minutes this man had a kind face. He wasn't father. His face was too soft. And he wasn't the bad man who hurt him either. He nodded gently, moaning as the object up his bottom moved within him.

The medical team arrived then and Greg shushed them with a hand. He looked down at Sherlock and spoke softly.

'These people are here to make you feel better, ok? They'll clean you up and put bandages on your wounds, and then you'll go to sleep. Can you hold still and let them help?'

Sherlock only half understood the man's words but he sounded so nice that he just nodded, his entire body tensing.

Be gentle with him,' he told the team. They nodded and Greg and Myc moved from the room, letting them be.

'Why did he call me "father?' Mycroft choked out. 'Do I really resemble him that much?'

'I don't know. I've never met your father.'

'And why were you speaking to Sherlock like he was a child?'

'Because he was scared, Myc. Sometimes it's best to talk to someone soft and slow so they calm down as well. But... I think it's more than that. Myc, he looked like he'd been tortured. What if... What if he lost so much of his mind that he actually is a child?'

The group of people surrounded him like a swarm of bees. Bees. He hummed. Croft had taught him how bees made honey. Croft. Where was Croft? Why was that old man saying he was Croft?

He shuddered, whimpered, and cried as the people began to clean some of the dirt and blood off. Their faces were creased in concern as they inspected some of the larger wounds that had puss coming from them. When the object in his bottom was removed he yelled out for help. He just wanted his big brother.

Mycroft clutched Greg tight as Sherlock cried out for him. He wanted his brother but all he could see was his father. Why couldn't he see him?

'Pleath, wan nith man. Nith man!' He wanted the nice man. Where'd he go? Had he left him like Croft?

'You want the nice man, sweetie?' one of the medics asked softly. 'Who's the nice man?'

'Gwey hair. Nith man!' Sherlock sobbed. 'I wan the nith man!'

'Ok sweetie. I'll get him.' She left briefly and moved to the sitting room, where the nice man was soothing another. 'Excuse me. Sorry to interrupt, but he's asking for the nice, grey-haired man.'

Greg swallowed and nodded. 'I'll be back soon, My.' He kissed his head and stood from the sofa, following the woman back to Sherlock.

He'd been stripped of his coat and now had a blanket draped across his lower half. He was shaking and his eyes darted around the room, searching for a threat. Greg approached quietly and knelt down to Sherlock's level. He took one of his hands gingerly in his and smiled softly when Sherlock turned to look a him.

'Hi Sherlock. You wanted to see me?'

Sherlock nodded and attempted a smile but it slid from his features quickly. 'Nith man,' he whispered. 'Vewy nith man.' He gave the nice man's hand a tight squeeze, hissing slightly as he brushed against one of the raw pads where his fingernails used to be.

'Sherlock, I know you hurt, I can see the cuts,' Greg said softly, inspecting Sherlock's hand and noticing his fingernails were gone. He swallowed thickly before continuing. 'But I'd like you to answer some questions for me, ok? Can you do that?'

Sherlock tilted his head to the side and studied the nice man closely. 'K,' he finally agreed in a small voice.

'Ok,' Greg nodded softly. 'Sherlock, can you tell me how old you are?'

'Fife,' Sherlock answered timidly. 'I'm fife.'

Greg swallowed but smiled softly. 'Five? My goodness, you're a big boy, aren't you?' He stroked his thumb over Sherlock's knuckles soothingly. 'Can you tell me about your brother Croft? How old is he?'

'Old.' Sherlock huffed and frowned. 'Finks he's in charge of me. N he always takth my slife of cake. Mummy finks he needs to cut back or he'll get fat.' He smiled at the nice man. 'Croft's alwedy chubby.'

Greg frowned slightly. 'Sherlock, what's the last thing you remember?'

'Bad man hurting me,' Sherlock whispered, looking around the room with terrified eyes. 'Ish he here?'

'What bad man?' Greg asked softly, rubbing his thumb across the back of Sherlock's hand in soft circles. 'What does he look like?'

'Nether saw him.' Sherlock was still searching the room for the bad man. 'Too dark.'

'It's ok, Sherlock. It's ok. There are no bad men here. Just the doctors who are gonna make you better, me, and your brother.'

Sherlock shook his head. 'Croft's not here. Wan Croft! Wan my big brofer!'

'Your brother is here,' Greg said softly. 'That ginger man who was hugging you earlier? That was your brother. He wasn't your father, and he will never be your father. I can promise you that.'

'No! Croft old but not that old! Croft's not that fat or tall! Croft! Wan Croft!'

Shhh. It's ok, Sherlock. Shhh,' Greg soothed him softly. 'How about I go find your brother and you let the nice doctors give you a bath, ok?'

'No! Wan you gimme bath! Nith man. Vewy nice man. N wan Croft! Gimme Croft!'

'Ok, Sherlock. Ok,' Greg said softly. 'I'll give you a bath.' He turned to one of the medics. 'Fetch Mycroft, would you?' The man nodded and left. Greg helped Sherlock sit up, gently picking him up in his arms and carried him to the en suite bathroom. One of the medics already had a warm bath prepared so Greg just set Sherlock into the water, making sure he didn't upset any cuts too badly.

Sherlock hissed and thrashed in the water as it swilled the deep scars engraved in his skin.

'Hurts! Hurts nith man! Hurts! Elp! Croft!'

'Shhh. I know it hurts,' Greg soothed softly. 'And it's gonna hurt. I'm sorry, Sherlock. I'm sorry.' He turned to the door to see Mycroft watching from the doorway, his eyes full of tears.

'Make it stop! Nith man! Pwease? I dun wanna hurt. Jush wan Croft!'

'I'm sorry, Sherlock, but it's gonna hurt until you start to get better.' He looked back to Mycroft and had Sherlock do the same. The younger man gasped and started thrashing again. 'It's alright. See? He's not going to hurt you. Does he look like he's going to hurt you? I think he looks sad.'

'Ish jush a game fer him. Not thad. Jush man... manip–' Sherlock frowned. 'Whath that word fer uthing people? Big word. Croft thed it once.'

'Manipulating,' Mycroft said softly.

'Mmm,' Sherlock whimpered and nodded.

'Shall I just go, Gregory?' he asked in a quiet voice. 'My brother clearly doesn't want me here.'

'I'd like you to stay, Myc,' Greg said equally as quiet. 'Just stay a safe distance away. For Sherlock's sake.'

Sherlock frowned and cocked his head.

'Do I know you?' he asked the nice man, ignoring the other lingering presence.

Greg swallowed but shook his head. 'No. We only just met today. I'm Greg. I'm... married to your brother.'

Sherlock's eyes popped from his skull and he lunged for one of Greg's wrists and tugged at it harshly till his palm rested over one word carved into his skin.

PIG

'Sherlock, what–?' His fingers touched one of Sherlock's cuts and he blanched. 'What's this, Sherlock?' He lifted his hand to examine the cut and paled significantly. 'Did the bad man carve that in you? Is that... Is it for me?'

Sherlock nodded, his eyes widening further. 'Bad man carved awot of wordth. Pig fer nith man. Fat fer Croft. Dunno fer otherth.'

Greg looked back to Myc and swallowed. He ushered him to leave but Myc merely sat on the bed, trying not to cry. Greg turned back to Sherlock and offered him a sad smile.

'I'm sorry the bad man hurt you, Sherlock. I'm very sorry.' He put a washcloth in the warm water and showed it to Sherlock. 'I'm going to wash your wounds now, ok? It might hurt a bit, but if it gets to be too much let me know and I'll stop, ok?'

'K, Gweg.' Sherlock closed his eyes as the nice man began to wash his wounds. He hissed, whined, and cried as his cuts stung but other than that he tried to be a good boy.

'You're doing great, Sherlock,' Greg said softly, running the cloth over more words. Desperate, damaged, hag, and freak among them. He swallowed thickly and began to clean Sherlock's face gingerly.

'I'll be washing your hair soon,' he said softly. 'Do you want me to cut it when I'm done? It's quite long.'

'Mmm. Cut it thort. Mummy doesn't like it too long. I wan Mummy!'

'Myc? Where's your mum?'

'Germany, I think,' came the soft reply.

'Oh. I'm sorry Sherlock, but your mummy isn't in England right now. She's on holiday. But I'll cut your hair nice and short for when she comes back, ok?'

'Ish ok. Mummy goes away a lot. Jush me n Croft. I wanna thee Croft. Need to tell him somthin.'

'Your brother is a little busy right now,' Greg lied. 'Can you tell me?' He dipped Sherlock's hair beneath the water and began rinsing the crud out of it. Hmmm. Maybe it'd be better to cut it sooner rather than later. The curls were a rat's nest of a mess.

'Tell him I got the bad guyths!'

'Ok,' Greg smiled warmly. 'I'll tell him you got the bad guys.' He hummed softly. 'Your hair's a mess, Sherlock. I think I'm gonna cut it now and wash it once I'm done.'

: 'K. Wan him to finith Treather Island too! N kitty! Wanna thee kitty!'

: 'The cat? How do you know–' He paused. 'Sherlock, did you get Myc our cat?'

'His Sher kitty?' Sherlock whispered. 'Think tho.'

'You... You visited Myc after... Excuse me for a moment.' He stood and dried off his hands, heading back out to Myc.

'Myc... Sherlock was here. He was here, after he'd jumped. He brought you the cat, and the scarf, and you actually recited Treasure Island to him. Myc... He was here.'

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders and slid under the water, fully emerging his body in the water, holding his breath and closing his eyes.

'You mean... He visited me after he'd fallen? Was it... Was it actually him at the funeral?'

'I don't know. Maybe. But he was here, Myc. He was here.' He hugged him tightly and pulled away. 'I'm gonna cut his hair, now. He needs it seeing as it's caked with blood and god knows what else.'

'Ok. Go take care of my brother, Gregory. I love you.'

'I love you too.' He grabbed a pair of scissors and returned to Sherlock, poking him gently in his shoulder so he would resurface.

Sherlock burst through the water, gasping for air and eyeing Greg warily.

'Hey, Sherlock,' Greg smiled warmly. 'How are you feeling now? Any better?'

'A widdle bit,' Sherlock muttered. 'Now bad man and Fafer can't hurt me.'

'Yeah. No one's gonna hurt you here. You're safe here.' He showed Sherlock the scissors. 'I'd like to cut your hair now. May I?'

'Mmm. K. N I'm hungry.' Sherlock's stomach roared unhappily.

'Ok. What do you want to eat?' He smoothed a hand down Sherlock's hair and snipped off a chunk, placing it in the bin.

'Food,' Sherlock grumbled.

'I know that, silly,' Greg laughed, snipping off more hair. 'I meant what type of food?'

'Cake wike Croft maketh. Did you know he can cook? Maketh the best cake!'

'Ok. I'll have Myc make some cake for ya,' Greg grinned. 'Can ya turn your head? I'm gonna get the other side now.'

Sherlock tilted his head and purred like a happy kitten.

'Do you like it when people fuss with your hair?' Greg smiled softly, snipping more of the matted mess off and tossing it.

'No.' Sherlock purred a little louder. 'I don't wike it normawee.'

'Can only special people fuss with your hair?' Greg asked, snipping off the last long lock and trimming the rest down.

'Vewy thpecial people. There was thith man. A nith man wike you. He futhed with my hair a lot. Made me happy.'

Greg frowned slightly. John. It had to be John. He swallowed and finished cutting Sherlock's hair, rinsing the scissors free of stray hairs and blood.

'That's nice, Sherlock. It's good that you found a nice man who fussed with your hair. I'm all done here, and you're all clean. Will you let the doctors put bandages on you? And then I'll have Myc start making you a cake, ok?'

'K. N I wanna hug. Gweg wanna hug me?' Sherlock blinked up at the nice man with big eyes.

'Course I'll hug ya,' Greg smiled sadly. He tenderly wrapped his arms around Sherlock's scarred torso and hugged him gently, smoothing a hand through his now incredibly short hair.

Sherlock tugged tightly at Greg, whimpering loudly. He pulled at the nice man rather harshly and let out a squeal as said nice man fell half into the bath.

'Gah! Sherlock!' Greg spluttered, pushing himself up out of the dirty water. He started laughing for some reason, really laughing for the first time in a while. He hugged Sherlock close, nearly falling back in the water in the process.

'Gweg lafin?' Sherlock giggled and tugged at him more forcefully, placing a little kiss on his head.

'Yeah, I'm laughing,' Greg smiled. He sunk a little further into the bath but pulled himself up again. He smoothed a hand through Sherlock's hair and kissed him on the forehead.

'Come on. Let's get ya outta here and then you can have cake.'

'Mmm. Yummy.' Sherlock's lips pursed together. 'Not gonna feed me through a tube though?' he said quietly.

'No. You get to have your own plate and fork, like a big boy,' Greg smiled softly. 'Who fed you through a tube?'

'Fafer. Thtuck a tube down my throat n fed me horrible liquid till tummy not feel good and I esploded.'

'Oh. I'm sorry, Sherlock.' Greg pressed a soft kiss to his forehead again and sighed. 'No one's gonna feed you through a tube. You get to eat like a regular person from now on. Promise.'

'Pinky promise? Swear on Thpock's life.' Sherlock laughed. 'Lif long n prothper!'

'I pinky promise on Spock's life,' Greg smiled, linking his pinky with Sherlock's. 'Now let's get you dried off and bandaged, ok? And then I'll have Myc make you a cake.'

'Fanks, Gweg.' Sherlock placed another kiss on the man's head. 'Nishest man I've ever met.'

No I'm not. John is, Greg frowned.

'Come on. Get up. I'll get your brother. Once the doctors have patched you up, put your PJ's on and I'll come getcha, ok?'

Sherlock scrambled up into Greg's arms and yawned. 'Theepy,' he mumbled. 'Am I allowed to theep?'

'Do ya wanna sleep before cake?' Greg asked, heaving him out of the dirty water and drying him off.

Sherlock answered the nice man with a loud snore, already fast asleep as his body finally caved in to its exhaustion.

'Get him patched up,' he told the medics. They took the sleeping Sherlock gingerly out of his hands and brought him to the bed, bandaging him up almost completely. They then put a loose t-shirt over him and some pyjama trousers before tucking him into bed.

'Thanks guys,' Greg said softly. One of them handed him a prescription for an antibiotic and left. He closed the door and went to find Myc. He was in the kitchen, surprisingly making a cake.

'Is he gonna eat?'

'After he's woken, yes,' Greg yawned. 'Sorry. I just. Wow. I can't believe he's alive.'

'Same here. But I find it hard to believe that he's got the mental acuity of a five year old.'

'Why is that so hard to believe? He went through a traumatic experience! He had his fingernails ripped out for fuck's sake! Not to mention the words carved into him!'

'Words? What words?'

'Pig, fat, hag, desperate, damaged, fuck up, freak, creature, fraud, monster, and remember,' Greg rattled off. 'Though I think the last one he did himself because the handwriting was different.'

Myc held onto the edge of the counter tightly, his arms shaking from the strain. 'He was branded with all those words?'

'Sort of, but they weren't all for him. He showed me the pig one and said the guy who did it said it was for me. Fat was for you.'

Myc looked down at his softening belly and sighed. He had put on at least a stone since Sherlock's fall. He needed to get fit again.

'How does he look though?'

'Emaciated, battered and bruised, and extremely tired. But otherwise ok. Well, except for the mind thing.'

'Ok.' Myc swallowed. 'I'll just finish this and it'll be ready for when he wakes up. I'll meet you upstairs, yeah?'

'Ok. Love you.'

'Love you too.' He pecked Greg on the mouth and watched him leave. He finished the cake, even going so far as to decorate it, and then made his own way upstairs, but not before checking to see if Sherlock was still sleeping. He was, thankfully, and snoring quite loudly. The poor man was exhausted.

He made it upstairs and changed into his bedclothes, Sher trotting in from god knows where and curling up at the foot of the bed. Myc crawled under the covers and snuggled Greg like he was his lifeline.

'It'll be ok, Myc,' Greg said softly, smoothing a hand through his hair. 'He'll be ok. We'll help him through this.' They both started crying, the stress and shock of the situation finally hitting them. They clutched to each other like small children and cried loudly, their tears staining each other's cheeks.

'Pwease dun cry,' Sherlock whispered gently. 'Dun like it when you cry. Pwease.' He didn't like it when people cried. Especially when it was the nice man crying.

'Sherlock?' Greg sniffled, turning to the door. Sherlock was indeed standing there, albeit a bit shaky on his feet. 'Sherlock, what are you doing up? I thought you were sleeping?'

'Wanna hug,' Sherlock whispered. 'Pwease. Jus wanna hug.' He paused, mouth trembling. 'I love you.'

Greg blinked. Mycroft swallowed audibly.

'You... You do?' Greg asked softly, wiping at his eyes. He pet the spot by him on the massive bed and smiled gently. 'You love me?'

Sherlock crawled onto the bed, eyeing the other man warily as he snuggled up to the nice man.

'Ahuh. Nith man. Love you.'

Greg smiled softly and smoothed a hand over Sherlock's short hair. He kissed him on the forehead, humming softly.

'I love you too, Sherlock,' he whispered. 'And I'm so sorry the bad man and your father hurt you.'

'Ith k.' Sherlock rested his head on Greg's shoulder and closed his eyes. 'Pwobably detherthed it.'

'No, Sherlock,' Greg said softly, tenderly cupping his cheek in his hand. 'You didn't deserve all they did to you. You're a good boy, Sherlock. You didn't deserve all that. Not at all.'

'No. I did. If I didn't Croft would have thaved me. He didn't come, tho pwobably detherthed it.' Sherlock whimpered and screwed his eyes shut tighter. 'Why didn't he thave me?'

'Because he didn't know where you were,' Greg whispered softly, holding Sherlock close. 'He looked and looked and looked but he couldn't find you. They had you hidden away where Myc couldn't find you. But he tried to find you. He did. They just took you to a secret place where you couldn't be found.' He kissed Sherlock's hair and sniffled.

'But you're here now, and you're safe. And I promise never to let anyone hurt you again, ok?'

Sherlock shook his head. 'Croft never thaves me! He leaveth me in the dark to die! He doethent care! Pwobably hateth me!'

'I don't hate you, Sherlock,' Mycroft whispered softly. 'I never have. I couldn't save you because I thought you were already dead.'

Sherlock pressed his face into Greg's chest and began to shake and sob, covering his ears so he couldn't hear his father's voice.

'Shhh. It's ok, Sherlock. It's ok. I've got you,' Greg said softly, rubbing small circles between his shoulder blades. 'He's not gonna hurt you. That's Croft. Tell me exactly how you remember your brother. Physical details, how he talks, what he wears. Tell me about him.'

'That ith not Croft!' Sherlock screamed. 'Croft not scary. Plump b' not weely fat. N he dun wear suits like earlier. Fafer wearth thuits. Croft ith cool. Wears Sthar Trek costume t' make me happy.'

'You have a Star Trek costume?' Greg asked Myc, smiling softly.

'I did,' he answered sadly. 'Got rid of it a long time ago. Although...' He got out of bed and padded over to his walk-in closet. He came back with a stuffed bee, a little worn with age but otherwise preserved nicely.

'This was his favourite,' he said softly. 'I got it for him when he was three and his obsession with bees had just started. I taught him how they made honey and then I got him this.' He knelt down by the side of the bed Sherlock occupied and held the bee in his line of sight.

'Sherlock? Do you remember Mr Bee? He's here to make you feel better.' He made a small buzzing noise and pressed the soft toy into Sherlock's hand.

Sherlock cracked an eye open and his whole face lit up. He gently took the bee from the man who resembled his father.

'Fanks,' he said in a small voice, hugging Mr Bee tightly to him. He cocked his head slightly and placed a hesitant kiss to the man's cheek.

'You're very welcome, Locky,' Mycroft smiled. He wasn't going to push Sherlock any further and stood to get back into bed. He placed a kiss on Gregory's head and turned over, letting him and Sherlock have their moment.

'See? I told you he wasn't gonna hurt ya,' Greg whispered softly into Sherlock's hair.

'B' he thtill not Croft,' Sherlock muttered under his breath. 'He's too old.'

'He is your brother. He's just changed while you were gone.' He sighed and placed another kiss to Sherlock's forehead. 'Think you can sleep now? Mr Bee will help you sleep, yeah? And I'll make sure you don't get hurt in the night.'

Sherlock nodded slowly in uncertainty. 'Theep here or theep in other bedroom? Wanna theep here!'

'You can sleep here, Sherlock,' Greg yawned. 'That's perfectly alright.' He scootched back just a tad so his back was touching Mycroft's, giving Sherlock some more room. 'Sleep now. You're safe here. Promise.'

Sherlock yawned. 'Night nith man. Night Old Croft.' He closed his eyes and almost instantly fell back asleep.

'Goodnight, Sherlock,' Greg yawned, settling down and cradling Sherlock against him. 'G'night Myc. I love you.'

'I love you too, Gregory,' he answered quietly. He looked over his shoulder at the sleeping Sherlock and gingerly ran the back of his hand down his face. 'Goodnight, Locky. I love you too.' He turned over and closed his eyes, falling asleep.

As Sherlock slept he dreamt of the bad man coming for him. He wanted to hurt him. As a result to this he began to scream in his sleep.

Greg jolted awake and Mycroft practically fell out of the bed. Sherlock was screaming and thrashing in his sleep, a terrible nightmare plaguing him.

'Sherlock! Sherlock!' Greg said, shaking him to get him to wake. 'Sherlock, it's the nice man. Wake up. It's ok. You're safe. It's just a bad dream. Just wake up and you'll be safe.'

'Croft!' Sherlock screamed, kicking out with his legs. 'Croft! Help me! Help me! Thave me!'

Mycroft dashed to Sherlock's side and held his hand tightly, smoothing his hair down where it had stuck up in his sleep.

'I'm here, Locky. I'm here. I've come to save you from father,' he whispered gently, squeezing Sherlock's hand.

Sherlock jerked upwards and clutched to Old Croft tightly. The nightmare was over but he was still terrified. His bladder reminded him of that fact as it emptied itself onto the bedsheets.

Mycroft scowled but held Sherlock close. Greg slipped away to grab Sherlock some fresh clothes, returning a few moments later.

'Come on. Get him into the bathroom. I'll clean him up.'

'Thorry,' Sherlock whispered in Old Croft's ear. 'Tho thorry.' He clutched him extra tight as he began to cry.

'It... It's ok, Sherlock. It was an accident,' he sighed softly. He picked him up and carried him to the bathroom, allowing Gregory to take over from there.

'I'm gonna take your clothes off and clean ya up a bit, ok Sherlock?' he asked softly.

'K,' Sherlock whispered, screwing his eyes shut. 'Still thorry. Didn't mean to. Dun get angry.'

'I'm not angry, Sherlock,' Greg hushed him, taking his trousers off and dabbing at him with a moist cloth. 'You were scared. It was an accident. It's gonna be ok.'

Mycroft, on the other hand, was stripping the bed of the soiled sheets.

'Pure Egyptian cotton, five hundred thread count, nearly six hundred pounds, and he pisses in them like a fucking child,' he muttered to himself. He checked the mattress to be sure it wasn't soiled either, which it wasn't thankfully. He tossed the soiled sheets down the stairs for the maid to find in the morning and grabbed clean ones, making the bed himself. He wasn't that incompetent after all. He just preferred other people doing most things for him.

'If this is some sick game,' he continued, tucking the sheets in at the end of the bed, 'I'm gonna fucking kill him. Mind of a fucking child my arse. This is a ploy for free lodging and not having to face John.'

'Old Croft ith angry,' Sherlock sobbed quietly. 'Uthing bad wordth.' His sobs got louder and he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. 'I'm thorry! I'm tho thorry! Didn't mean to. I was thcared!'

'Shhh,' Greg hushed him softly, holding Sherlock close as he cried. 'It's gonna be ok. I'll talk to him, I'll make it better.' He dressed Sherlock in clean clothes and handed him his bee plushie.

'Hold onto him and don't let go. He'll make ya feel better until I get back.' He kissed Sherlock on his forehead and dragged Mycroft from the room, his anger boiling.

Sherlock curled in on himself, rocking himself gently as he hugged Mr Bee.

'Ish k Mr Bee. Jush me n you.'

'What the hell is wrong with you?' Greg demanded once they were out of earshot.

'What do you mean? I was merely voicing my opinion.'

'That's your little brother!' Greg growled. 'He's damaged and hurt and he needs you now more than ever! He thinks he's five for fuck's sake Myc! You hafta be gentle with him. Soft. Like you were when you gave him the bee. That's what he needs.'

'That man is not my brother,' Mycroft seethed. 'He may look like him, but he's not him. I know my brother. I watched him grow up and destroy himself. That man child in there is not him.'

'Yes he is! Don't you see? He deleted so much of himself that he forgot who he was, lost in his own mind. He was tortured for god knows how long. I'd have lost my mind too.'

'He still isn't my brother. My brother is dead.'

For that Mycroft earned himself a rough shove. He looked at Gregory, shocked and appalled.

'He is your brother, you are going to accept that fact, and you are going to take care of him. But tonight–' He returned to the bedroom briefly, returning with Mycroft's pillow. 'Tonight you're sleeping in the spare bedroom.'

'Gregory–'

'Go.' He shoved the pillow in Mycroft's arms and watched him go downstairs, head hung in defeat. Greg returned to Sherlock and knelt down to his level, smoothing a hand down his hair softly.

'It's gonna be ok now, Sherlock,' he whispered. 'I told him to leave us alone for tonight if he wasn't gonna be nice. So it's just you, me, and Mr Bee.'

'Fanks, Gweg.' Sherlock smiled happily and struggled up into a sitting position so that he could hug the nice man tightly. 'Go theep again? Thill theepy.'

'Yeah. We're gonna go back to sleep now.' He hugged Sherlock close and hummed softly. He wasn't sure what the hell was going on in Sherlock's mind, but he was gonna help him through it and give him the childhood he never had.

He smoothed a hand through Sherlock's cropped hair and smiled. He kissed his forehead softly and scooped him up into his arms, carrying him back to bed. He tucked him in first before climbing in himself. Sherlock instantly curled up against him. Greg smiled again and massaged his scalp gently.

'If you feel like you need to go again, wake me up, ok?' he whispered. 'Don't wanna have any more accidents, yeah?'

'Thorry Greg,' Sherlock whispered sweetly. 'Old Croft was thcary! Thorry.' He hugged Greg tightly, falling asleep again.

'I'll have a talk with Old Croft in the morning,' Greg yawned, hugging Sherlock close. 'G'night, Sherlock.'

Sherlock slept soundly for the rest of the night, occasionally whimpering, but apart from that he did not stir.


	3. Adjusting to New Dynamics

Good afternoon everyone. I'm pretty much home alone except for my brother. You know what that means ;) Time to crack open a bottle of sweet alcohol and watch some Netflix XD So I won't waste too much time here so I can get right into my binge-watching.

MJCF: Sherlock  
Me: Greg  
Shared: Mycroft

_Warnings for this chapter: Mystrade feels, feeding kink, vomiting, accidental arousal, Holmes brother feels, and just general angst_

* * *

Greg woke bright and early despite it being his day off. He smoothed a hand over Sherlock's cropped hair and hummed softly.

'So it wasn't a dream,' he mumbled to himself.

Sherlock grumbled in his sleep and turned onto his belly, burying his face in the covers.

'Get some sleep,' Greg whispered to Sherlock. 'I'm gonna go make breakfast.'

'Cake?' Sherlock mumbled sleepily into his pillow.

'We can have cake later. Promise. But first I'd like you to have a proper breakfast, ok?'

'No. Wanna eat cake!' Sherlock whined loudly.

'After breakfast or not at all,' Greg bargained.

'Not gonna eat anyfin then,' Sherlock huffed.

Greg sighed and combed his fingers through Sherlock's hair.

'How about this? You can have a piece of cake first, then you can have breakfast. Does that sound doable?'

'Dun like other food. Ish icky. Wan cake n only cake,' Sherlock said stubbornly.

'Why do you think other food is icky?' Greg asked softly, continuing to pet Sherlock's hair soothingly.

Sherlock shrugged. 'Juth ith. Wan cake! Wan cake! Gimme cake!'

'Fine, Sherlock. You can have cake,' Greg sighed. He didn't want Sherlock to starve any more than he already was. At least he wanted to eat. 'Get some more rest. I'm gonna talk with Old Croft for a bit and then we can have cake, ok?'

'Mmm. K. Bye nith man. Thee you thoon.' Sherlock sighed softly and closed his eyes once more.

'Sleep well, Sherlock.' Greg kissed his forehead softly and climbed out of bed. He stretched before going downstairs, seeing Mycroft's door was closed. He knocked softly, not wanting to incite his wrath.

'Myc? Can we talk for a bit?'

Mycroft buried himself under a pile of blankets, rather childishly choosing to ignore his lover.

'Myc? Please. I just wanna discuss the situation we're in,' Greg said softly.

'I see nothing to discuss!'

'Myc, your brother is alive and has the mentality of his five-year-old self. There's plenty to discuss.'

'In which case, do enter!'

Greg sighed and entered the room, closing the door behind him. He sat on the edge of the bed and looked at the bundle in the covers.

'Myc, please be civil about this. Your brother is ill. Incredibly so. And he needs us.'

'Civil?' Mycroft sniffled. 'I think we threw that out the moment you kicked me out of my own bloody room.'

'Because you were being a right git,' Greg frowned. 'Sherlock was scared, he had been having a nightmare, he couldn't control himself. He thinks he's five for fuck's sake and you need to treat him like you did back when he was actually five. He's scared, he was tortured for months going by how hollow his body was, and he doesn't know what's going on. He needs us to take care of him while he heals, physically and mentally.'

'He has not got the mental age of a fucking five year old! That man is not my baby brother! I refuse to believe it is him! This is just a stupid bloody game someone is playing with our minds! Why can't you see that?!'

'You honestly think Sherlock would do that? Pretend to be five just to get some sympathy out of us? Well, out of me? The next time you see him I want you to do something. I want you to be silent and I want you to observe him. Think back to when Sherlock was five and compare his mannerisms with this new Sherlock. Then think back to the grown Sherlock and compare his mannerisms to that of his five-year-old self. Once you're done, tell me what you've found. Because this isn't a game, this is real. Sherlock is damaged, totally and completely, and he needs his big brother Croft, not whoever the hell you are.'

'I lost him, Gregory. I lost my little brother. I've barely gotten over that! I don't know how to deal with this. He doesn't even like me. He's scared of me. I remind him of father.'

'I know, Myc. I know. I lost a good mate that day, and John lost his love. None of us have gotten over that day, and we probably never will. But Sherlock is here, alive, and safe from harm. You just need to show him that you aren't your father. Like what you did with Mr Bee last night. Have you got any other childhood mementos stashed around the house for you two to reminisce and bond over?'

'I have a whole house not far from here filled with his things, just his things. I sometimes go there when things get really bad. Perhaps we should take him there.'

'It's my day off. Maybe we can go there later today? After breakfast perhaps? All Sherlock wants is your cake, no regular food. Was he like that as a child?'

Mycroft chuckled. 'Oh yes. Very much so. Always begging for cake. He downright refused to eat anything else. Of course, that only led me into putting on the weight and becoming a chubby teenager. He never finished the cake. I was always left to consume it.'

'Well, now you have me to share it with,' Greg smiled softly. 'Budge over. I'm coming in.'

Mycroft shifted under the blankets and mumbled something incoherent, tugging Gregory into a tight hug as he entered.

'What was that, Myc?' Greg asked softly, settling against his husband's chest.

'I said that I missed you.' He looked at Greg with red, puffy eyes and tear stained cheeks.

'Oh Myc. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.' He kissed him soundly and tenderly held his face in his hands, wiping the tears off his cheeks with his thumbs.

Mycroft leaned forward and kissed Gregory heavily, rubbing himself up against his husband.

'I love you,' Greg whimpered, rutting against Mycroft fervently. 'I love you so much. Wanna take me this time?'

'We should wait – till Sherlock – uh! – can't overhear us,' Mycroft moaned loudly.

'Yeah. Ok. Oh fuck. Can we – oh god – can we get each other off though?' His hand was already snaking down beneath Mycroft's waistband, stroking the soft skin of his hip teasingly.

'God yes! Please! Oh god. Oh god! Gregory!'

Greg smirked cheekily and snuck under the blankets, sliding Mycroft's pants down just enough that he sprang free. He stroked him a few times before taking him in his mouth, sucking noisily.

Mycroft bit down his moans and began thrusting into Gregory's mouth rapidly, pushing himself down as far as he could go.

Greg hummed and allowed Mycroft to fuck his mouth, relaxing his throat so he could slide inside.

'Oh Gregory. This is marvellous!' Mycroft groaned, tilting on the edge already.

] Greg merely groaned and sucked harder, hollowing his cheeks, wanting his husband to cum down his throat.

Mycroft's head fell back and his lips parted as he began cumming down Gregory's throat in thick spurts.

Greg swallowed all Mycroft gave and released him with a wet pop. He pulled his pants back up and settled against Mycroft's chest as he came down, smiling quite cheekily.

'Gorgeous,' Mycroft giggled and reached out a hand to stroke his husband's face.

'So are you,' he smiled. He leant into Mycroft's touch and hummed. 'My turn, yeah?'

'Hmm. Hang on a minute. I have an idea.' Mycroft slid off the bed and walked out of the room. He returned a few minutes later with half of the chocolate cake he'd made. 'Eat all this and I'll fuck you tonight as well as give you a blow job now.'

'You want me to eat all that?' Greg blanched. 'That's a ton of sugar! Not to mention all that frosting. I'll be sick!'

'You're over thinking it,' Mycroft purred. 'Please. Just try. The reward will be large indeed.'

'Ok. Fine. Give me the damn cake. You better have left enough for Sherlock.'

'He can have the other half.' Mycroft smirked and handed the cake and a fork over to his husband. 'Eat up.'

Greg sat up in the bed and took the offered cake and fork. He inspected it for no real reason before digging his fork into it. He shoved a decent sized piece into his mouth and chewed slowly, savouring the taste. Myc really did make the best cakes. He hummed and swallowed, eating another forkful.

Mycroft eyed his husband greedily, licking his lips and moaning.

'That's it. Eat every last scrap of this and the reward shall be glorious indeed.' He reached a hand out and splayed out it over Gregory's stomach, observing how it rose a little with each bite of cake from its usually flat origins. He hadn't even made a dent into the cake yet.

'Is this a new kink?' Greg asked through a mouthful of cake. 'Watching me stuff myself silly?' He shovelled more into his mouth, his stomach already protesting from the massive amount of the sugary goodness.

Mycroft blushed. 'Maybe,' he admitted. He pushed down lightly on Gregory's stomach and moaned when it caused a hiccup to travel through his husband's body. 'Now eat,' he ordered, rubbing the rounding belly. 'Because good lord do you look good.'

'Don't press on my stomach,' Greg groaned as he continued to eat. 'Hurts.'

'I apologise.' Mycroft gave the stomach a final pat before stilling his hands. His husband's stomach was beginning to gurgle and vibrations were rolling through it as he continued to cram the cake down into it.

'Would you like a cold beer to swill it down with?' he asked softly.

'God yeth,' Greg said through a mouthful of cake. 'Too thweet. Need beer.'

Mycroft nodded and went to fetch two beers. He opened them up and sighed as he realised he had a pact to stay sober.

'You're going to have to drink both. I can't have a drop. I'd be breaking my promise to myself to stay bone dry,' he said as he held one of the bottles against his husband's lips.

Greg hummed in agreement and began swallowing the beverage in long gulps, cleaning his mouth and throat of the sweet cake.

Mycroft watched as the beer glided down his husband's throat and groaned when he saw his stomach filling out more as the liquid hit it, probably making the cake expand. He knew he should be worried that his husband's breathing was so shallow because of his stomach now hugging his ribs, but Mycroft was far past decency and far too turned on to care.

'Feeding kink?' Greg asked, taking deep breaths. 'Wanna feed me the rest?' He offered Myc the last half of the cake and smiled as best he could through his discomfort. He just hoped to god he didn't vomit everywhere once this was over.

'Mmm. I've never carried it out before. I was worried you'd think it ridiculous, considering my yo-yoing weight problems.' He groaned as he picked up the cake and grinned madly as he shoved it into his husband's mouth. 'I'm so glad I was wrong. Just a little bit more cake and the other beer and you'll be perfect.'

'Feeding me up for Easter?' Greg joked, swallowing the cake without really properly chewing it. His stomach was beginning to protest quite loudly, but he ignored it. He crawled into Mycroft's lap and straddled him as he was fed, subtly rocking against his husband's rock hard erection.

Mycroft purred in reply as he fed his husband more cake. He grinned at the grurgles and groans Gregory's stomach was now giving.

'God! So perfect!'

'Uncomfortable,' Greg groaned as the pressure in his stomach increased. He needed to burp but he was too afraid of something coming up with it to actually do it. He was completely and utterly full, his stomach distended to the point of pain. It hurt so fucking much but he wanted to do this for Myc. So he pushed on and ate more of the cake, his stomach protesting more insistently.

Mycroft patted Gregory on the back, like burping a baby. 'It's ok. Try to burp. It'll make you feel better.'

'Don't wanna,' he groaned, clutching his stomach. 'Might puke.'

Mycroft sighed and kissed the side of Gregory's neck. He shovelled the final piece of cake into his husband.

'Now the beer and you'll be done. You can let it settle for a bit afterwards.'

'Gimmie the damn beer,' Greg groaned, reaching out for the bottle.

Mycroft handed Gregory the beer and watched as he began guzzling at it greedily. 'Slow down, Gregory. There's no rush. You'll make yourself ill.'

Greg grunted in reply and continued to guzzle the beverage down, his stomach filling with more gas and the urge to expel it becoming greater than before. He finished the beer and handed the empty bottle to Mycroft, collapsing against the sheets and clutching his pained stomach, groaning loudly in discomfort.

Mycroft smirked. 'God you're beautiful,' he breathed. He came to lie by his husband, draping an arm over his swollen stomach. He scratched it with his fingertips lightly, enticing a loud growl from it as the contents pushed against the tight skin.

'Oh god,' Greg grunted in pain, scrunching his eyes shut. 'Just... don't touch it. Please. Oh god.' His stomach was gurgling loudly now and he felt like he could vomit at any moment. If he did, he wouldn't be able to make it to the toilet in time. He needed a bin, and fast.

'Myc... Gonna be sick,' he groaned out, clamping a hand over his mouth.

Mycroft quickly grabbed a bin and handed it to his husband. 'Try to hold on. I promise to fuck you into oblivion if you do. Just hang on in there.'

'I can't! It hurts, Myc! It hurts so fucking much!' He clutched the bin close and hovered over it, waiting for the inevitable.

Mycroft bit his lower lip. He had to give Gregory something to focus on other than the pain. He spread his husband's legs wide and moved so that his lips were clamped around his cock. He sucked at the clothed erection before reaching for the zipper. He tugged it down and laughed. Gregory's cock was prevented from rising fully by his belly.

'Myc,' Greg groaned, shivering from his husband's touches. 'Oh god, don't stop. Please. Keep going.'

Mycroft licked a wet stripe up Gregory's cock before swallowing him whole, nuzzling the extended stomach as he bobbed his head up and down.

'Oh fuck,' Greg moaned, abandoning the bin to grasp the sheets tight. He rut into Mycroft's mouth but stopped when it jostled his extended stomach too much. He moaned and whimpered, hands scrabbling in the sheets as his husband pleasured him.

Mycroft hummed his approval and hollowed out his cheeks. Gregory was bright red in the face, presumably because of his inability to actually move. Mycroft slurped greedily at his lover's cock and pressed his nose against the bottom of the hard and almost full to brim stomach.

'Ooooh god!' Greg cried, his entire body tensing. He was close, so blissfully close. Just a little more stimulation.

Mycroft glided his teeth over Gregory's cock and squeezed his bollocks tightly till he came screaming. His entire body lurched upwards and Mycroft watched on in satisfaction.

'Myyyyyc!' Greg screamed as he came, his entire body shaking from the intensity of it. When he settled back down however, he was reminded of how pained his stomach felt. He couldn't stop it that time and he turned to lean over the bin now by the bed and violently threw up into it, his body now convulsing for an entirely different reason.

Mycroft sat up and patted his lover's back soothingly as he threw up. 'I'm sorry,' he whispered. 'I'm so sorry.' Even after Gregory had finished throwing up his belly still looked unnaturally extended and stretched.

'Try burping now.' He reached around and rubbed the belly, full of gas and whatever hadn't been thrown up.

Greg did, and it was loud, painful, and smelled of chocolate beer. It was absolutely disgusting. He groaned and settled back against the sheets, eyes closed firmly. A hand reached out for one of Mycroft's and squeezed gently, letting him know he was ok.

Mycroft removed the bin and left it out for the maids to take away. He returned and clambered back onto the bed.

'Better?' he asked, snuggling up against his husband, draping a hand over his stomach.

'A bit, yeah,' Greg groaned. 'Could use some water though. Get this taste outta my mouth.'

: 'Ok. I'll get you some.' Mycroft kissed Gregory on the head and moved into the en suite, grabbing a glass and filling it before returning and handing it to him.

Greg sat up gingerly and took the glass, drinking it slowly to soothe his aching throat.

'I'm sorry,' Mycroft smiled weakly. 'I didn't mean to put you in pain.'

'It's fine. Just, next time don't make me eat so goddamn much.'

Mycroft blushed. 'I was getting rather carried away. You looked quite beautiful when you were full of cake and beer.'

'I'm sure I did, but it hurt like hell. I feel a lot better now though.' He paused to drink more water. 'Does this mean I don't get my buggering tonight?'

'I think you may deserve it. You lasted longer than I expected you to. And–' Mycroft paused as he heard a blood curdling scream. He paled and swallowed audibly. 'Sherlock,' he whispered sadly.

Greg was up like a shot, running upstairs and into the master bedroom. Sherlock was flailing in the sheets, screaming bloody murder. Greg went to his side and clasped one of his hands tight, smoothing down his hair with the other.

'Sherlock? Sherlock, it's the nice man. Wake up, love. It's only a nightmare. Wake up.'

'No! Weaf me awone! Wet me go! Wet me go!'

Greg released his hold on Sherlock and moved back a bit.

'Just wake up, Sherlock. Can you hear me? What can you see?'

'Help me! Help me pleath! Thcared! Bad man thcary!'

'Sherlock! Wake up! He's not real! Just follow the sound of my voice! I'll help you out of there!'

Sherlock jolted upward and gasped for air like a fish out of water, simultaneously throwing up an unhealthy looking bile and wetting the bed.

'Oh love,' Greg said softly, moving back over to the crying Sherlock. 'It's ok. It's ok. He's gone. You're safe now, with the nice man and Old Croft. Shhh. It's ok.'

Sherlock rubbed at his eyes and sobbed loudly. He was dry retching now. There was nothing left in his stomach to expel.

'Come on. That's good. Get it out,' Greg said softly, rubbing circles on Sherlock's back. 'It's ok. I won't let Old Croft yell at you this time.'

'Thorry!' Sherlock whimpered and sniffled. 'Didn't mean to. I wath thcared.'

'Shhh. It's ok. I'm not angry. How about we get you cleaned up and then you can have cake, yeah?'

: Sherlock grinned at the nice man. 'Wan cake! Wan wots of cake! Nom, nom!'

'Bath first, ok?' Greg bargained. 'Then I'll let you eat as much cake as you want.'

'K,' Sherlock agreed. 'Bath! Hath you got my rubber bumble bee? Mr Bee has a wady friend. Wherth hith wady friend?'

'Myc? Where is Mr Bee's lady friend?' Greg asked, smiling wide.

'She's the same place I kept Mr Bee,' Myc said softly. 'I couldn't separate them.' He moved into the room quietly and went back to his closet, returning with another bee. He handed her to Sherlock with a soft smile.

'Old Croft not angry anymore?' Sherlock asked warily, clutching the lady bumble bee tightly.

'No. I'm not angry anymore,' he said softly. 'Gregory set me straight.'

Greg blushed. 'Bath time, Sherlock?' he asked softly.

Sherlock grinned and nodded. 'Bath time!' he giggled.

'Ok. Leave Mr Bee here. Don't want him getting wet.'

'Aww, b' wady bee wikes Mr Bee. They're in wuv!'

'Are they?' Greg smiled brightly. 'Well, how about Mr Bee sits on the sink and watches. He's not like his lady friend, he can't get wet.'

'K. Mr Bee wikes to watch his lady bee,' Sherlock nodded eagerly.

'Ok. Let's get your dirty clothes off and then we can take a bath,' Greg smiled warmly. He hoisted Sherlock's shirt over his head and tossed it to the side. He then moved Sherlock's legs so they dangled off the bed and took off his trousers.

'You may want to get the maids here early, Myc,' he said, hauling Sherlock into his arms. 'Get those sheets and clothes cleaned up.'

'Of course. Take care of him. I'll make breakfast.' He kissed Greg on the head and gently booped Sherlock on the nose, smiling warmly. 'Sorry for getting mad earlier,' he apologised.

'Ith ok, Old Croft. I forgif you.' Sherlock relaxed a little and smiled up at Old Croft.

'Thanks. Now go take a nice bath with Gregory.'

'Ish Gweggy gonna fall in bath again?' Sherlock giggled, his tongue sticking out between his lips.

'I hope not,' Greg laughed. 'But I can get in with you if you want.'

Sherlock nodded gleefully. 'Aww yay!' he exclaimed.

'Ok. Come on,' Greg smiled. He carried Sherlock to the bathroom and sat him on the loo. 'Sit here while I get the bath started. Do you want bubbles?'

Sherlock squeaked and nodded happily, smiling at the nice man toothily.

'Bubbles it is,' Greg laughed. He turned the water on and made sure it was warm enough before filling the huge tub, pouring in some bubble bath as well.

'Ok. Wanna get in while it's still filling?'

'Help me in.' Sherlock stretched out his arms to Greg and made little grabby movements with his hands.

Greg laughed and picked Sherlock up, lowering him into the bath water.

'Oops. Let me have Mr Bee. Don't want him getting wet.'

Sherlock handed Greg Mr Bee and gently pat his lady friend to console her.

'Gweggy coming in?'

'Yep. Be in in a second.' He sat Mr Bee on the sink, turning him to face the tub. He then stripped out of his own clothes and got in the tub facing Sherlock. The water was warm and the bubbles were up to his chest already. He smiled and scooped some bubbles up in his arms, putting them on Sherlock's head.

Sherlock purred his approval as the nice man fussed his hair. 'You're funny.' He grinned and shook his hair free of bubbles like a dog.

Greg laughed and turned away so the bubbles wouldn't get in his eyes. 'So are you,' he grinned widely. He turned the water off and slid closer, moving more bubbles into Sherlock's hair so he could wash it.

Sherlock purred louder and propelled himself forward so he was sat on Greg's lap. He wiggled slightly and rested his head on his shoulder.

Greg hummed and hugged Sherlock to him, continuing to massage his scalp soothingly.

'Love you Gweggy,' Sherlock whispered and hugged him tightly back.

'I love you too, Sherlock,' Greg whispered back. He pressed a soft kiss to his forehead and smiled almost sadly. It was hard to believe a man like Sherlock had fallen so far that he had reverted back into a child. He just hoped his mind was repairing itself. Physical maladies he could handle. But minds, especially such a strong one like Sherlock's, he couldn't. But he was going to do his best to help Sherlock in any way he could. And if that meant playing a parent, so be it.

Sherlock sniffed Greg. 'Gweggy tharted eating cake wifout me,' he huffed. 'Ya thmell of cake.'

'Old Croft had me eat some, yes,' Greg admitted. 'But he's downstairs making more. Smell.' He sat back and inhaled deeply, indeed smelling more cake baking.

'Mmm. Old Croft maketh good thmelling caketh.' Sherlock licked his lips greedily. 'Do they tathte good too?'

'They taste absolutely delicious,' Greg hummed. 'Let's rinse your hair out and then we can get outta here and have cake once we're dressed.'

Sherlock purred and pushed his head into Greg's hands. 'Feelth good.'

'Ya like this?' Greg asked, washing Sherlock's hair softly, occasionally massaging his scalp with his fingertips.

'Mmm. Feelth good. B' feelth thwange too.' Sherlock was turning a little pink in the face, his lips hung open, his head tilted back, and the pink flush was quickly spreading down his chest.

Oh my god. Does he find this arousing? Greg's eyes widened and looked down, but the bubbles covered anything he might have seen. He swallowed and removed his hands from Sherlock's head.

'I think it's clean now. Time to rinse it.'

Sherlock pouted. 'B' wath enjoying it. A widdle longer?' he pleaded, wiggling on Greg's lap as he seemed to have gone off into his own little world. Sherlock frowned when Greg groaned loudly. 'Wath wong?'

'Nothing. Nothing,' he answered quickly. Fuck. When had he gotten hard? This was beyond not good. He swallowed audibly and shook his head no. 'Sorry, Sherlock, but I'm not gonna continue. Your hair is clean and I don't want to wash it too much, otherwise it'll get greasy. So let's rinse it and then we can have cake.'

Sherlock shifted on Greg's lap again and whimpered slightly as he felt something pressing against his thigh. He tried to wiggle away from it but instead came directly in contact with it. He gasped loudly as a not entirely welcomed feeling jolted through him.

'Wath that?!' he screeched. 'Dun like it!'

'I'm sorry, Sherlock! I'm sorry!' Greg eased Sherlock off his lap, both of them breathing quite heavily in surprise.

Sherlock burst into violent tears. 'Dun like it! Get me out of ere! Dun like it! Croft! Croft! Pleath help me!'

'I'm sorry, Sherlock,' Greg frowned. He stepped out of the bath and wrapped a towel around his waist. 'Stay here and I'll get your brother.' He went downstairs without waiting for an answer. Mycroft was downstairs in the kitchen, just taking a cake out of the oven.

'Myc, he's asking for you.'

'Oh? Why?' He turned to look at Gregory and he nearly started drooling. 'My, my. You look absolutely–'

'Myc... He needs you. Go,' Greg interrupted. Myc nodded and walked upstairs, Greg close behind. He didn't follow Myc into the bathroom. He pulled out some clean clothes from his side of the wardrobe and went downstairs to keep an eye on the cake.

'Locky?' Myc asked softly, kneeling by his sobbing brother's side. 'What's wrong? What happened?'

'Nith man made me feel thwange!' Sherlock sobbed. 'Dun wike it! Make it thop!'

'Made you feel strange how?' Myc asked softly. He grabbed one of Sherlock's hands and stroked his thumb over his knuckles soothingly. 'What did Gregory do?'

'Rubbed against me. Thwange feewing! Dun like it! Make it thop! Croft! Pleath?'

'Shhh. It's done now. He's not doing it anymore.' He looked at Sherlock's hair and understood. 'How about I rinse out your hair and then we can have cake? I'll have a talk with Gregory later.'

'K, Croft,' Sherlock sniffed. 'Nith man wath not very nith.'

'No. It wasn't very nice what he did. But I promise he won't do it again, ok?' He risked cupping Sherlock's cheek and ran his thumb over it soothingly.

Sherlock flinched and stared at Old Croft with wide eyes. 'Dun do that,' he grumbled.

Mycroft removed his hand and frowned sadly. 'My apologies. I won't do it again. Can I still rinse out your hair? Then you need to get dressed and we can have cake. Sound good?'

Sherlock nodded and leant his head closer to Old Croft. 'Wan ya cake.' He smiled lightly. 'Thmells good.'

'Tastes good too. I tried a little bit just to be sure you'd like it.' He tilted Sherlock's head into the water and began gently rinsing the bubbles from his hair.

Sherlock fell back into his loud purring and closed his eyes, a large smile cracking his face open.

'You never liked it when I washed your hair before, Locky,' Mycroft said, a soft smile gracing his lips. 'You seem to like it a lot more now.'

'Another nith man changed my mind. Dunno who he wath b' he wath weely nith n cuddly.'

'Oh? Can you describe him?' Of course, Mycroft already knew the man was John. He had to be John. Who else could it be?

'He was weely kind n he hath thith thoft voice. N he hath blonde hair. Pwetty eyeth too.'

'He sounds like a very nice man,' Mycroft smiled. Definitely John. He finished rinsing Sherlock's hair and lifted him up and out of the water. 'Can you dry yourself off like a big boy? I can help you get your back if you want me to.'

'Ith ok. I'm a big boy. Go n find Gweggy. I'll be ok.'

'Ok. Let me know when you're dressed and then we can have cake.' He squeezed Sherlock's hand gently and left to find Gregory.

'Gregory? Where are you? Can we talk please?'

Greg was sitting at the top of the stairs, moping. What the hell had he been thinking? Sherlock thought he was five. He didn't know what an erection was. He groaned in embarrassment and held his face in his hands, utterly ashamed of what he'd done.

Sherlock rubbed himself completely dry and wrapped himself in a towel. He sat on the loo and waited for old Croft's return.

'Gregory?' Mycroft sat by him on the stairs and nudged their knees together. 'Gregory, what happened?'

'I... I'm not really sure. I was washing his hair, and he really seemed to like it. Myc...' He turned to look at him. 'I think I turned him on. And... I'm pretty sure he turned me on too.'

'It's alright, Gregory. It would seem our dear Jonathan has changed Sherlock's mind about having his hair fussed with.'

'So... it wasn't my fault that he got turned on? He was just remembering John doing it and it affected him like that?'

'It would appear so. But I must ask you not to become aroused around him again. It upset him very much.'

'Yeah. Ok. Should I apologise?'

'You can apologise over cake. Let me get him dressed and we'll meet you downstairs.'

'Ok. Love you.'

'Love you too.' They kissed briefly and Greg went downstairs to get the cake. Mycroft returned to Sherlock.

'All set?' he asked as he entered the bathroom, finding Sherlock clutching his two bees to his chest. 'Are they having a nice chat?' he asked with a soft smile.

Sherlock grinned toothily at old Croft and nodded. 'Having wovely chat! Lady Bee wuvs Mr Bee, Old Croft.'

'Yes, they are very much in love. I can see that,' he grinned. 'Are they gonna get married one day?'

'Like you n Gweggy got married?' Sherlock blinked up at Mycroft.

'Yes. Like Gregory and I got married,' he smiled softly.

Sherlock suddenly gasped and clutched his head, almost toppling to the ground.

'Watch! Watch! Watch!' he chanted.

'Watch? What watch? Oh.' Mycroft pulled out his Gallifreyan pocket watch and held it up. 'This watch. You got me this. I knew it.'

Sherlock was racked with sobs as a strange sort of sadness washed over him. He shook, his entire body twitching like he was possessed.

'Sherlock, what's wrong?' Mycroft asked softly. He put the watch away and moved to sit on the floor of the bathroom, dragging Sherlock onto his lap. 'Shhh. It's ok. It's ok, Locky.'

'No!' Sherlock screamed. 'Ish not ok! My head hurth! It hurth tho much. I dun feel well Croft!'

'Shhh.' He began rocking gently, cradling Sherlock in his arms. 'It will be ok. I promise. Just take some deep breaths and relax. Try not to think for a minute. It'll be ok.'

RD: Sherlock closed his eyes and began to breathe heavily.

'I can't thop thinking!' His body shook more violently but exhausted easily. He soon relaxed in old Croft's arm, his body flopping limply, practically unconscious. He hadn't eaten in so long and so that had weakened him too.

'Hey. Sherlock, hey,' Mycroft said softly, gently shaking his shoulder. 'Are you still awake? Can you hear me? Squeeze my hand if you can hear me.'

Sherlock could only hear a muffled version of Old Croft's voice and so the hand remained unsqueezed.

'Sherlock? Sherlock!' Now Mycroft was worried. He picked Sherlock up and took him back to the bed, laying him down and rooting through his wardrobe for some clothes he could wear. He found a loose t-shirt and some sweatpants that must have belonged to Gregory. He gently put them on and picked Sherlock back up.

'I'm taking you to get some food, ok? Do you want cake? Please answer me, Sherlock. Please.'

Sherlock whimpered and shifted in old Croft's arms but other than that offered no reply.

'Ok, you need food. Come on.' He shifted Sherlock so he was in a more comfortable position and carried him downstairs. He sat him in a chair and pulled the last half of the first cake close. He propped Sherlock up against him and held a forkful of cake close to his lips.

'Open up, Locky. It's your favourite. My special cake. You want some?'

Sherlock's tongue flickered out and tasted the cake of its own accord and he finally began to rouse. He whined loudly and opened his mouth wide.

'Good boy, Locky,' Mycroft praised, releasing a large breath he hadn't even known he was holding. He put the fork in Sherlock's mouth and gently pulled it out once Sherlock's lips closed around it.

Sherlock slurped and sucked greedily at the fork, gobbling up the offered cake, his mouth processing it with a ravenous hunger.

Mycroft held another forkful to Sherlock's lips once he was sure he'd swallowed the first one.

Sherlock gobbled it down eagerly. 'Tho tasty,' he moaned loudly and licked the fork.

'Thanks, Locky,' Mycroft smiled gently. 'Think you can feed yourself now, or do you still want me to do it?'

Sherlock pouted. 'Dun wanna feed mythelf. Too lazy.'

'Ok. I'll feed you then,' Mycroft smiled softly. He offered Sherlock another forkful and licked his lips. Now he really wanted some cake too.

Sherlock ate the cake quickly and groaned. 'Full.' He rubbed his stomach. 'Wan me t' feed ye up Croft?' Sherlock giggled. He grabbed the fork and scooped up a piece of cake. 'Wanna eat?'

'Three bites and you're already full?' Myc asked skeptically. 'Think you can have just one more? Then I'll eat some.'

Sherlock sighed and forced himself into eating the piece of cake.

'I'm full!' he protested as his brother continued to look at him skeptically.

'Ok, fine. I don't want you to overstuff yourself anyway.' Gregory scoffed lightly but turned away before Mycroft's glare could reach him. 'I'll eat what I can and save the rest for later. After this I was wondering if you'd like to go for a quick trip with me and Gregory?'

Sherlock cocked his head as he held a piece of cake out for old Mycroft. 'Where?' he asked simply.

Mycroft ate the offered piece of cake before answering. 'A little house not too far from here. There are some of your things there that you might want while you're here.'

Sherlock raised another piece of cake to Old Croft's mouth. 'My things?'

'Clothes, some books, and some toys. I think some science equipment is there as well.' He accepted the cake gratefully and hummed in pleasure. It really was quite delicious. 'Do you want to go?'

'Finith cake first n we can go.'

'Not sure I'll be able to finish all of that,' Mycroft said. He ate the offered forkful and hummed loudly again. 'But yes, I'll finish eating and then we can go.'

'Croft all full?' Sherlock grinned and funneled the cake into Old Croft's mouth.

'Mmmf!' Mycroft grunted, pushing the cake away. He swallowed what was in his mouth and groaned loudly. 'Ok. I'm done. Need a drink though.' Greg instantly passed them both a glass of milk, smiling softly.

'Thanks, Gregory,' Mycroft said gratefully, swallowing the milk in gulps.

'Thankth Gweggy,' Sherlock said through a mouthful of milk.

'Ah-ah. No talking with your mouth full,' Greg scolded softly, wagging a disapproving finger. 'Swallow and then tell me again.'

'Thankth Gweggy?' Sherlock tried again, his mouth no longer full.

'Better,' Greg smiled. 'And you're welcome. Now, shall we take a drive?'

'Leth take a dwive!' Sherlock giggled and clapped his hands in excitement.

'Alrighty then!' Greg laughed heartily. 'Let's get some shoes on and go!'

'Arrr!' Sherlock growled and squeezed one eye shut. 'Off t' the theven theas!'

Both Mycroft and Greg laughed loudly at Sherlock's rather adorable pirate impression. Myc kissed his on one side of his forehead and Greg the other.

'Come on ye scurvy dog,' Myc said in his best pirate impression. 'T' the ship!'

Sherlock grinned and kissed Old Croft on the nose. 'Can I haf a thip, Croft?' he asked with big puppy dog eyes.

'I promised you a ship a long time ago,' he muttered sadly. 'It's about time I kept my promise.' He looked up at Sherlock and smiled softly. 'Yes, you can have a ship. I'll get right on that as soon as we come home.'

'Aww. Yay!' Sherlock peppered Mycroft in kisses.

Mycroft laughed and hugged Sherlock close.

'Love ya, Lock.'

'Love ya too, Croft,' Sherlock whispered, hugging Old Croft impossibly tight.

Mycroft was on the verge of tears and he didn't really understand why. He hugged Sherlock tight, cradling him against his chest, humming softly. He didn't want to let go. This was the closest and most personable they'd been in quite a long time. He wasn't ever going to let go.

Sherlock snuggled against Old Croft. He could sense his older brother's sadness and became sad too, tears leaking out onto his shirt.

Greg left to leave the Holmes boys alone as they were clearly having a moment and he didn't want to intrude.

'I wuvv you, Croft,' Sherlock sobbed.

'I love you too, Sherlock,' Mycroft choked out. 'I never told you often enough, so now I'm gonna say it as often as I can. I love you,

I love you, I love you.'

Sherlock shook in his brother's lap. 'Wuvv you,' he said somewhat more weakly.

'Hey. It's ok.' He felt Sherlock shaking and hugged him close, rubbing soothing circles into his back. 'It's ok. You're safe and alive and I love you.'

'Then how come everything theems tho... wong?' Sherlock whispered, tears flooding down his cheeks. 'I'm thcared, Croft. Like weely thcared. N...n...' He broke off into louder sobs.

'I know, Locky. Things are weird right now, but perhaps with time they'll get better.' He stroked a hand through Sherlock's still damp hair. 'And why are you scared? Would you tell me?'

'I'm thcared cus I'm lotht in my mind n I can't find my way back.'

'Well, you've been found now,' Mycroft said softly, continuing to pet Sherlock's hair. 'I've got you now, and I'm going to help you find yourself. I promise.'

Sherlock smiled weakly and nodded. 'I got the bad guyth, Croft. Bad men in Amerwica.'

'You did?' Myc asked, a hint of pride in the lily of his voice. 'Good job, Locky. I... I'm proud of you.'

'Pwoud? Weewy?' Sherlock laughed, nuzzling his brother's chest.

'Really, really.' Myc held him close and placed a kiss on his brother's forehead, humming slightly. 'So very, very proud.'

'Thankth, Croft. Wuvv you loth and loth.'

'I love you lots and lots too.' He sat back and wiped at his eyes, doing the same with Sherlock. He smiled gently and ran his fingers through Sherlock's incredibly short hair one last time.

'I think it's about time we went for a drive, don't you?' he asked.

'Dwive! Dwive!' Sherlock yelled happily, scrabbling off his brother's lap and falling to the floor with a dull thud.

'Careful, Lock,' Mycroft said gently, helping him up off the floor. 'Take it easy. I'll take you to the car. Gregory will meet us there.' He took Sherlock's hand in his and squeezed gently, texting Gregory with the other.

Meet us in the garage if you're not already there. –MH

Got the car ready and everything. –GH

Sherlock squeezed his brother's hand back and ran his fingers over his knuckles, spelling out something that he didn't quite understand in swift circular motions.

'Family,' Mycroft explained when he saw the crease of concentration on Sherlock's forehead. 'That's 'family' in Gallifreyan, the language of the Doctor.' He pulled out his pocket watch and showed it to Sherlock. 'Like this one. See? Same pattern as you were drawing.'

'Docta?' Sherlock asked, a tiny frown burrowing its way into his forehead. 'Who ith the docta?'

'He's an alien on a TV show. He travels in a magic blue box throughout time and space, saving people and going on lots of adventures. I can show you an episode after we get home. But right now it's time to go on a drive, yeah?'

'B' why ith he called the docta? Docta who?' Sherlock said, frowning.

'It's the name he chose for himself. I'll explain later. The show does a better job than I do.' He grasped Sherlock's hand again and gave it a small squeeze. 'Now, let's go for a drive.'

'Dwive!' he grinned, squeezing his brother's hand tightly.

Mycroft laughed and lead Sherlock to the garage, Gregory's car all ready to go. He helped Sherlock into the back seat and buckled him in nice and snug.

'You ok?' he asked when he saw Sherlock's face contorted into some form of confusion and worry.

Sherlock glanced up at Old Croft and nodded, his eyes still a little wide.

'Are you sure? You look a little nervous. I just want to be sure you're ok before we go.' He glanced down at Sherlock's hands and noticed they were grabbing at thin air just above his lap.

'Do you want Mr and Lady Bee to help you relax?'

'Can I haf Mr Bee and Wady Bee pleath?' he asked in a small voice.

'Yes, you can have your bees. Are they still in the bathroom?'

'Yeth. In th' bathroom.'

'Ok. Be right back.' Mycroft squeezed Sherlock's hand gently and dashed back to the upstairs bathroom, finding the two bees on the floor. He scooped them up and went back to the car, handing Sherlock his bees.

'Better now?' he asked softly.

'A widdle bit,' Sherlock smiled, clutching his bees. 'Can ya come n sit in back wid me too?'

'Sure,' he smiled gently. He moved to the other side of the car and sat by Sherlock, buckling himself in. He gave Gregory the address and they drove off.

* * *

Holmes brother fluffy times! It just melts my heart.

Next chapter will be up next week. We've been good at keeping this schedule, so fingers crossed we can keep it up. Come June, things might slow down a bit, but we'll do our best to update on time.

Until next time!

TSA + MJCF


	4. A Short Little Trip

Hello everyone. Happy Saturday and happy Memorial Day weekend. I hope the weather is as beautiful for you today as it is here in my neck of the woods. It's sunny and warm and gorgeous and I'm sad that I'm stuck inside at work for the next four hours and I can't enjoy it. Oh well. I'll be sure to catch some sun later. Maybe after I go see the new X-Men movie.

Anyway. This chapter is quite short, so you'll be getting two updates today.

MJCF: Sherlock  
Me: Mycroft and Greg

_Warnings for this chapter: Sherlock becoming a bit aroused and also some Holmes brother feels ahead._

* * *

Sherlock leant his head against Old Croft's shoulder and sighed happily, allowing his eyes to shut slowly.

'Seems he's gonna take a quick nap before we arrive,' Mycroft whispered softly. 'Play some classical music. He always liked to listen to that when he slept.'

'What kind of car do you think I drive?' Greg joked. 'There's no classical music in here. Eighties grunge and rock for me.'

Mycroft pouted and started humming 'Für Elise' softly by Sherlock's ear, hoping it would lull him into a peaceful dream state. Sherlock smiled in his sleep and curled up closer against Old Croft. The soft voice was pulling him down into happy dreams of bees and chocolate cake. Myc easily transitioned into a piece by Bach, humming softly down Sherlock's ear as they drove on. Sherlock hummed in his sleep and wrapped his arms tightly around Old Croft's softening middle. Greg smiled at the two of them. He was so happy to see them like that, especially after yesterday's debacle.

'We're about ten minutes away,' he informed Mycroft softly. Myc merely nodded, not stopping his gentle humming for a second.

'Mmm. Croft.' Sherlock shifted and opened up his sleepy eyes.

'Yes, Lock?' Mycroft stopped his humming to look down at his little brother, smiling softly. Sherlock simply smiled and butted his head upwards, encouraging his brother to stroke his hair. Myc smirked and began running his fingers through Sherlock's hair, the strands soft as they travelled between them. Sherlock began to purr in response, small moans of appreciation falling from his mouth every now and then. Mycroft made a promise to himself to stop before Sherlock became too aroused, keeping an eye on his groin for any signs of an erection. He continued to run his fingers through Sherlock's hair though. His little brother was enjoying it immensely.

Sherlock felt strange again. A pink flush spread through his body like wildfire and he felt an unnatural warmth building in his belly. He moaned louder and butted his head harder against his brother's hand. And there it was. The beginnings of an erection. He stopped stroking Sherlock's hair and kissed his forehead when he whimpered in protest.

'You've gone all pink,' he said in explanation. 'You feeling OK?'

Sherlock huffed. 'Feel fine. Juth a widdle hot.'

Greg rolled down Sherlock's window, the breeze grateful to them all.

'How's that?' he asked, checking Sherlock in the rearview mirror.

'Better,' Sherlock hummed. 'Muth better.'

'OK. Well, we're almost at the house,' Greg informed them.

'OK, Gregory,' Mycroft said softly. He hugged Sherlock to him gently, looking down at Sherlock's hands. He was clutching his bees tightly, moving them subtly like they were talking.

'Are they having another nice chat?' he asked quietly, pointing to the bees.

Sherlock nodded. 'A vewy nice chat. They're gonna have a bee baby. Are you n Gweggy gonna have a widdle Croft baby?' Sherlock poked at Old Croft's stomach. 'Ith tha why you're tho fat?'

Mycroft turned a startling shade of red and Greg burst out laughing. Myc shot him a glare but turned back to Sherlock who looked utterly confused.

'No, I'm not having a baby,' he said as calmly as he could. 'Only girls can have babies.'

'Oh,' Sherlock sighed. 'How dithapointing. Wan a widdle Croft baby to pway with.' He poked Old Croft's belly again. 'Are you thure you're not gonna pop out a baby, Croft?'

'Yes, I'm sure I'm not gonna have a baby,' Mycroft chuckled lightly. 'Though maybe–'

'Not yet, Myc,' Greg said softly. 'Not so soon after Sherlock's arrival. Give it time. But someday. I promise.'

'How are babieth made, Croft?' Sherlock asked, blinking up at his brother innocently. 'Eatin too much cake?'

'No, Lock.' Myc chuckled again. 'Babies are grown in their mommy's tummy. I'll explain how they get there when you're older.'

Sherlock huffed. 'Ere we go again. Alwayth thinking you're in charge of me, jush because you're older. Tho annoying!'

'Well, I am in charge while mother's gone. But that doesn't change the fact you're far too young to know how babies are made.' Greg chuckled softly and pulled into the drive at the house.

'We're here boys. Let's save the baby talk for later and get Sherlock some of his stuff.'

'Yay!' Sherlock shifted into a sitting position. 'Come on Croft! Come on Gweggy!'

The two men both laughed and exited the car, Greg helping Sherlock out.

'Why don't you leave your bees here?' he suggested as Sherlock was still hugging them tight. 'They can have a nice chat while we're gone. Plus we won't accidentally leave them in the house when we leave.'

'But dun wanna leave my beeth!' Sherlock stamped his foot and huffed stroppily.

'But if you said they're gonna have a bee baby they're gonna want some privacy,' Greg said quietly. 'That's one of the things needed to make a baby. Privacy. So can you let them have some privacy so they can make a bee baby?'

Sherlock let out a disgruntled sound. 'Fine,' he muttered, handing the bees to Greggy.

'Thanks, Sherlock.' Greg smiled softly. He put the bees back in the car, setting them next to each other. 'Now let's go get some of your things, yeah?'

'K.' Sherlock entwined one of his hands with Greg's and another with his brother's.

'Alright.' Greg smiled, squeezing Sherlock's hand gently. 'Come on.' He lead him to the door and Mycroft opened it. He lead them through the house and Greg noticed it was completely furnished with Sherlock's things.

Sherlock glanced up at his brother and frowned. 'You're thad,' he said quietly. 'Why are you thad?'

'I just... I haven't been here in a while,' Mycroft said softly. He swallowed thickly and looked around the room. 'Everything here brings back a lot of memories for me. Come on. What I want to show you is over here.'

He led them to a back room. It was dark when he opened the door but when he flicked on the light a small laboratory was revealed.

'Wow.' Sherlock grinned toothily, glancing around the laboratory with the curiosity of a small kitten. 'Mine?' he asked, his whole face lighting up.

'Yep. All yours,' Mycroft said, smiling down at his brother. He released Sherlock's hand and pushed him forward gently. 'Have fun.'

Sherlock grinned and ran straight over to the microscope and sat down behind it. He peered down at a slide containing an animal cell and breathed out in awe.

'I think he's gonna be pretty occupied for a while,' Greg said softly, taking Myc's hand in his. 'Wanna gather some of his stuff while he's here?'

'Sure. Let's start with some clothes.' He led Gregory to a bedroom filled to the brim with Sherlock's clothes. 'Most of these came from John. But some had come from when he stayed all those months after... the incident.'

'Ah. So, where shall we start?'

'Shirts and trousers. Well, we might as well just take all his clothes home. I'll call a truck down to ship some of his bulkier things home. Like the science equipment.'

'Sounds good, Myc. Come on. Let's sort through some of his childhood things. Find him some toys and pirate things.'

'Yeah. OK.' He took Gregory to another room that was full of Sherlock's childhood memorabilia. 'Let's dive in.'

Sherlock was concentrating on studying the animal cell when he heard a loud buzzing sound. A bee! His head snapped up and he watched as a little bumble bee flew on by outside the window. He stood to his feet and opened the window. He easily clambered out as it was only a first floor room he was in.

'Come back widdle bee!' he called out, running after the fluffy, flying creature. 'I jush wanna be fwiends!'

The van people arrived a few minutes later. They began loading Sherlock's entire wardrobe as well as his favourite toys inside. Mycroft told them to save the lab equipment for last seeing that Sherlock was in there exploring. So they loaded more furniture and waited for Mycroft to give the go ahead. Greg gave them some water while they waited.

'Is he done yet?' he asked Myc. 'I don't mean to rush him but the men seem to be getting quite impatient.'

'I don't know. I'll go check and let him know what we're doing.' He went to the lab and knocked on the door softly.

'Sherlock? Sherlock can I come in?' He got no response so he just went in anyway. 'Sherlock, can we–' He stopped dead in his tracks. The lab was completely empty, the microscope Sherlock had planted himself in front of abandoned. The window was open and Myc could see Sherlock's footprints in the dirt beneath it.

'Sherlock!' he screamed out the window, hoping he hadn't gone too far. But Sherlock didn't come back. He was gone.


	5. Split Personalities

Next chapter! Enjoy!

MJCF: Sherlock  
Me: Mycroft and Greg

_Warnings for this chapter: it's fluffy until the end when Sherlock has a panic attack and injures himself pretty badly._

* * *

Sherlock bounced after the bee but soon the buzzing creature, much to his disappointment, disappeared. Sighing loudly, he began to trudge back to the house.

'Where could he have gone?' Greg asked, trying to remain calm to counterbalance Myc's hysteria.

'I don't know! That's the thing! It may be a pretty secluded neighbourhood but he could be anywhere! And why are you so fucking calm?!'

'Someone needs to have a level head. It'll do us no good to both be frantic. Come here.' He opened his arms and Myc folded himself into them gratefully. 'We're gonna find him, I promise. He's gonna be OK, and we're gonna find him.'

Sherlock skipped into the house as the door was open and it'd be easier to use the door than to try to clamber up into the lab through the window. He froze when he heard crying.

'Croft?' he asked quietly, looking around for Old Croft.

'Sherlock?!' Myc released Greg and ran to the front door. He cried harder at the sight of his brother, safe and sound. He ran up to him and embraced him tightly, peppering soft kisses over his face.

Sherlock giggled and kissed his brother's face back. 'Whath wong, Croft?' he asked, hugging him tightly back.

'You were gone and I was so worried!' he almost sobbed. 'Don't go running off again, please. You'll give me a heart attack.'

'I'm thorry, Croft. I wath chathing a bumble bee.' Sherlock squeezed his brother tighter.

'A bee?' Mycroft began to laugh. 'Of course it would be a bee. Just please don't run off like that again. I was really worried.' He kissed Sherlock's forehead again and pulled away, wiping his tears off his cheeks.

'Thorry,' Sherlock apologised again. He turned to Greg. 'Gweggy wanna hug too?'

'Course I'll hug ya,' he said with a smile. He moved over to Sherlock and wrapped his arms around him in a warm embrace.

'Mithed me too?' Sherlock grinned cheekily.

'Yeah. Missed ya lots.'

'Aww, Gweggy.' Sherlock smiled sweetly. 'Gweggy mithed me!'

'Of course I missed ya. You're my Sherlock,' he said softly. He pressed a soft kiss to the top of his head.

'Yours?' Sherlock asked.

'Yeah. Mine and Myc's.' He kissed Sherlock's forehead again and let him go. 'Now that you're back, what science stuff do you want to bring back home? Or do you just want to bring it all?'

'All of it, pleath,' Sherlock said, kissing Greggy on the cheek.

'Alrighty then.' He smiled softly. 'And I was thinking maybe we could go shopping really quick and find your some colouring books and crayons. Maybe even a special pirate book. Sound good?'

'Arrr!' Sherlock growled. 'Ith my dream t' become a pirate bee,' he informed both Greggy and his brother with a grin.

'A pirate bee?' Mycroft chuckled. 'That's new. I thought it was just to become a pirate?'

Sherlock rolled his eyes. 'Keep up, My! Wanna become a pirate bee!'

'Well, alright then,' he chuckled. 'We'll just have to help make that dream come true now, won't we Gregory?'

'Yes. Yes we will. Wanna be a real pirate bee, Sherlock?'

Sherlock gasped and nodded frantically. 'Pirate bee! Pirate bee! Wanna become a pirate bee!'

'Go get in the car and we'll make you a pirate bee.' Greg smiled widely.

Sherlock squealed in excitement and clapped his hands before skipping back to the car. He slid himself in and began telling Mr Bee and Lady Bee about the fact that he was going to become a pirate bee.

'You're gonna spoil him,' Myc stated, grasping Gregory's hand.

'The poor bloke deserves it,' Greg said softly. 'He's got a second chance at a proper childhood. I can't deny him that.'

'Be good to him. You don't necessarily have to spoil him.'

'Yes I do. I can be tough but fair when I need to be, but right now just let me spoil him, OK?'

'OK. I love you.'

'I love you too.' They kissed briefly and made their way back to the car. The truck drivers were instructed to take everything to the mansion once it was packed up. They'd be back to help organise later. Greg started the car and pulled away, typing in the address for Tesco's in his GPS. Myc watched Sherlock play with his bees.

'So, have your bees made a baby yet, Locky?' he asked.

Sherlock huffed and pouted. 'No. Are you thure they don't need to eat cake to make a baby?'

'Yes,' he said, laughing. 'I'm sure they don't need to eat cake to make a baby. You ate cake today. Are you gonna have a baby?'

Sherlock's eyes widened and he paled. 'I hope not,' he mumbled, poking his concave stomach.

'I told you before, Locky, only girls can have babies. And you're definitely not a girl. And cake doesn't make you have a baby. You're going to be fine.' He kissed his forehead and then moved Mr Bee just so so that he kissed Lady Bee.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. 'Just cuz you're older dothn't mean you're alwayth right!'

'OK. Why don't you tell me how babies are made?' He sat back and mirrored Sherlock's pose, smirking slightly at how put off his brother was.

'How am I thpothed t' know? I'm only five yearth old!' Sherlock huffed in annoyance.

'Then will you please trust that my knowledge is sound until you prove it otherwise?' Mycroft asked gently.

'Fine.' Sherlock leant his head against the window and sulked.

'Hey, don't be like that.' Mycroft scootched closer and took Sherlock's hand in his. 'One day you'll be a proper genius, probably even smarter than me. Then you can tell me what's right and wrong.'

Sherlock tilted his head and for a moment he felt something scratching its claws against the inside of his mind, like something or someone trying to escape. He frowned and turned to face his older brother, a flash of something twinkling in his eyes.

'Thath not gonna happen,' he stated simply, the flash of recognition fading from his pools of blue rapidly.

'Yes it will,' Mycroft said gently. 'You'll become smarter as you grow. Promise.'

'I'm mad, Croft.' Sherlock frowned. He hadn't thought those words. That something/someone doing all that scratching in his mind had. He swallowed and turned back to glare out of the window.

'Mad? Why are you mad?' he asked gently.

'I'll leave you to figure that one out on your own, idiot,' the something/someone pushed out of his lips.

Mycroft's mouth fell open. That... That was Sherlock. His Sherlock. He was still in there. And he was pissed.

'Me. You're angry at me,' he stated. 'Because of what I did. I can understand that. But Sherlock, if you can hear me, please try to fight your way out. I need you right now. That ma– OK, the slightly grown up you. The Sherlock I know. Not the five-year-old version of you. Please come back. Please.'

Sherlock frowned and glanced worriedly at his brother.

'Thomthing wong, Croft?' he asked gently. Whatever had been scratching away in his mind had vanished now.

_Dammit! He's gone!_ Myc swallowed and sat back, turning to look out his own window.

'No. Nothing's wrong,' he lied. Tears were forming in his eyes though. Because something was seriously wrong with Sherlock. He was trapped inside his own mind and his five-year-old self was protecting him. A few tears slid down his cheeks at the thought and he swallowed down on the lump that had formed in his throat. Sherlock was in there, but he was trapped and couldn't escape.

Sherlock swallowed. He'd done something to make Old Croft sad. He shuffled as close to him as possible and ran his thumb over the tears gliding down his brother's cheeks.

'Pleath don't cry,' he whispered. 'I dun wan ya t' cry.'

Mycroft flinched slightly at the gentle touch. He hadn't expected it and so it made him cry a little more. Sherlock had never been so gentle before, nor so caring. But he was trapped in this man-child and he couldn't break free. How long would it take for him fully return? Weeks? Months? Years? Or was he gone for good? The thought of losing his brother while trapped inside his own head caused him to sob openly. He couldn't lose his brother again so soon after burying him. He hadn't even truly gotten him back either. This thing wasn't Sherlock. Not yet. But maybe he never would be.

Sherlock sat back against the window, pressing his cheek to the cool glass. He winced as the scratching started up again in his mind.

'Sentiment, brother?' The voice was icy cold, not a drop of warmth remained, and the tiny lisp was non-existent. 'Caring is not an advantage.'

'I can't lose you to this child, Sherlock!' Mycroft cried. 'Fight him! Come back so you can yell at me properly! Please! I just got you back yesterday but I need the real you with the body! Please!'

'Thith ith the real me.' Sherlock frowned. He didn't have a clue as to what was going on.

Mycroft held his tongue but all he wanted to do was scream, 'Give me my brother back! Give him to me! Now!'

Sherlock didn't like the way his brother was staring at him. It made him feel like he was being studied through a microscope. He clutched at his toy bees, his hands trembling violently. Mycroft blinked and turned away. That wasn't his brother. His brother was trapped inside the child cocoon. He was trapped and needed to get out. But how?

Greg, who had witnessed the entire thing in an awed silence, finally pulled into the Tesco's lot. He parked near the front and turned off the car, watching the two Holmes boys in the rearview mirror. The air was tense and thick, Greg could practically taste it. And no one was making a move to end the strained silence. Sherlock tucked his legs up beneath him and rested his head on top of them. A small, breathy sob escaped his lips. The tension was reaching out to him and sinking into his pores like a rich poison. Sherlock didn't like it one little bit.

Greg quietly opened and closed his door as he got out. He walked over to Sherlock's door and opened it, gesturing for him to come out. He silently told Myc to stay, this was time for just him and Sherlock. Plus Myc really needed some time alone. Sherlock grabbed Greg's hand and allowed him to drag him from the car. He left his bees with his brother and rubbed at his tearful eyes. Greg clutched Sherlock's hand tight and lead him toward the store. He didn't speak until they were by the entrance. He wrapped Sherlock up in a tight hug and sighed loudly.

'I'm sorry, Sherlock. I'm so sorry.'

'Why doth he hate me tho much?!' Sherlock sobbed loudly, shaking in Greg's arms.

'Oh, sweetie,' Greg said softly, clutching Sherlock tight. 'He doesn't hate you. He's just so worried about you. Plus he's still a little emotional about you running off. Myc doesn't hate you. I think maybe he loves you so much he doesn't want to see you hurt.'

Sherlock shook his head. 'He doth hate me! Wouldn't even wook at me before! W-w-why?'

'He doesn't hate you,' Greg reiterated. 'He's worried about you immensely. As for the not looking at you bit, when he's very absorbed in his thoughts he blocks everything else out. He's done it to me too. It's not you, Sherlock. It's him.'

'I dun like thith. Head hurth,' Sherlock complained loudly, groaning into Greg's shoulder.

'I can get you some tea. Does that help when your head hurts?'

'Tea ith yucky,' Sherlock grumbled. 'Wan milkthake. Chocolate milkthake.'

'OK. Do you want me to make it at home or buy it here?'

'Buy it ere.'

'Alright.' He took Sherlock's hand and lead him into the store. He grabbed a trolley and took Sherlock to the refrigerated section.

'Go on and pick out a milkshake. I'll let you drink it in the car on the way home. Just don't spill it, OK?'

'K. I'll try to no thpill it.' Sherlock trotted up to the wide variety of milkshakes and chose a Belgian chocolate flavoured one. He licked his lips. It was thick and frothy and even looking at it was making him feel thirsty.

'Yum. Looks like a yummy one, Sherlock.' Greg smiled at him. 'Put it in the trolley and we can look for things to make you a pirate bee.'

Sherlock popped it in the trolly and kissed Greggy on the cheek. 'What are we gonna get t' make me a pirate bee?'

'What do you need?' Greg asked. 'I've never seen a pirate bee before, so you get to pick out what a pirate bee would wear.'

Sherlock shrugged. 'Thath cus I invented the job. I'm the world's only bee pirate. Help me choose thome thingth.'

_World's only indeed,_ Greg mused. 'Alright. Lead the way, Sherlock.'

Sherlock led Greg down to the clothes section and squealed as he had spotted a yellow and black stripy top.

'That!' he exclaimed, pointing to it, grinning widely.

'Perfect,' Greg said. 'Let's find it in your size.' He rifled through the shirts until he found one that might fit. It was a little big, but he was hoping to nurse Sherlock back to a proper weight, and he wanted him to grow into it. He put it in the trolley and looked at Sherlock.

'What next?'

'Wingth,' Sherlock said, moving his arms in huge flapping motions.

'Of course,' Greg laughed. 'How could I forget the wings? Where do ya think they'd be?'

Sherlock glanced around and pouted when he couldn't see any wings. He needed wings to complete his dream and become a pirate bee! Biting his lip, Sherlock began to run off. He fled down the aisle and out of the nice man's sight. Sherlock was soon lost in a thick crowd of people and even the yells of his name became distant.

'Sherlock!' Greg yelled, trying to follow him but losing him in the crowd. 'Sherlock! Sherlock get back here!'

Sherlock pushed past the sea of people and somehow found himself near the entrance of the supermarket. There stood a man, a man that Sherlock faintly recognised. The scratching in his mind from earlier started up again and he almost screamed because the sensation was so painfully intense.

'John,' he gasped, his breath catching in his throat and his head spinning violently. 'Oh, John.'

John blinked and looked up from the pack of cigarettes he'd just purchased. He swallowed thickly and his eyes widened slightly before exiting the store and making for home. So now his visions were following him. And they were changing appearances. Short hair this time. That was new. The starved look wasn't though. He lit a cigarette on the way home and ended up having five by the time he returned to the flat. He made sure to give Lily food before he poured himself a sizeable drink and collapsed on the sofa in a heap. He alternated drinking and smoking until his mind fogged and the visions died away, just like Sherlock had. He let out a choked sob and curled in on himself, pulling his blanket over him and crying himself to a fitful sleep.

Sherlock collapsed onto the cold floor, his knees trembling beneath him as he watched the man leave. The scratching had worsened now and it felt as though his brain was slowly slipping between his ears like grains of sand. He curled in on himself and began to rock, trying to will whatever the scratching was to go away.

'Sherlock? Sherlock!' Greg yelled, louder every time. He finally escaped the crowd and found Sherlock curled up on the floor, a shop attendant trying to comfort him.

'He's with me,' Greg said, taking the attendant's place. 'Thank you. I can take it from here.'

'Is he OK?'

'Oh, yes. It's just that sometimes large crowds get to him. He just sort of took off without me and got lost. He'll be OK once we get outside. Right Sherlock?' He smoothed a hand through Sherlock's hair and smiled softly. Sherlock couldn't have responded even if he'd wanted to. The scratching was so loud now that it was swallowing him whole. Silent tears trickled down his cheekbones and his plump lips opened and closed a few times, letting out few low whimpers each time they moved.

Greg frowned and reached into the trolley, pulling out the milkshake. 'I'll pay for it, I swear,' he said to the attendant as he opened it. He held it under Sherlock's nose for him to smell, hoping it would bring him out of his stupor. Sherlock grabbed the milkshake displayed in front of him and guzzled at it greedily, closing his eyes and pushing the scratching sensation to the very back of his mind.

'There ya go,' Greg said softly, smoothing down a section of Sherlock's hair. 'Feel better?'

Sherlock shook his head silently and wiped at his tears. He felt horrible, even more so than when he'd been stuck in bed with chicken pox when he was four.

'What's wrong, Sherlock?' Greg asked softly, sitting down beside him. 'Can you tell me what's wrong?'

'Wanna go home,' Sherlock whispered, his voice coming out sounding painfully raw with emotion.

'OK. OK, we'll go home.' He helped Sherlock up off the floor. 'I'll just pay for your bee shirt and milkshake and then we can go home.' He used a chip-and-pin machine and paid quickly, getting Sherlock out of the store before he started crying loudly. He helped him into the car and gave him his bees, kissing him on the forehead gently before climbing in the driver's seat and taking off for home.

Sherlock scrunched his eyes shut, curling into a tight ball on the backseat, loud and screeching sobs falling from his lips and slicing open the silence.

Mycroft glared at the thing in the car. It still wasn't his brother. He'd seen John leave the shop and briefly wondered if they'd seen each other. He highly doubted it, seeing as it was a massive store during it's busiest time of day. The poor man was smoking again, not that Mycroft didn't already know. And he appeared to not be eating as well. A loud shriek from the thing interrupted his train of thought and he huffed loudly. Would it just shut the fuck up already? For fuck's sake! Make it stop!

'Gregory, can you get it to shut up?'

'Myc! He's not an it! He's scared and he doesn't feel good. Just let him cry.' Mycroft huffed and stared out the window, watching the houses grow sparse as they neared the mansion. As soon as they were parked Mycroft shot out of the car, inside the house, and upstairs to his home office, slamming the door behind him.

'Thee!' Sherlock screamed. 'He hateth me! He weely doth hate me! Ith not fair! What've I done?'

'I don't know, Sherlock,' Greg said softly. He moved over to Sherlock's door and opened it, helping him out and holding him as he cried. 'I'm sorry Mycroft isn't being very kind right now. I'll talk to him and see if he'll tell me what's wrong. In the meantime, finish your milkshake and then take a nap, OK? You seem a little tired.'

'K. B' firth I need the loo,' Sherlock sniffled loudly.

'OK. Can you use it all by yourself?'

Sherlock nodded. 'I'm a big boy now, not a baby.'

'Yeah. I know. Sorry. Go to the loo. I'll get you a piece of cake.'

'Thank you.' Sherlock smiled weakly, trotting inside and to where he remembered the loo was.

Greg grabbed Sherlock's bees, shirt, and milkshake before locking the car. He put the milkshake in the fridge and put Sherlock's things on his bed. He went back to the kitchen and cut a slice of cake for Sherlock to have. He ate a small piece himself, his cock twitching as he remembered the lewd acts he and Myc had gotten up to just that morning with that particular cake. He hummed and resisted palming himself through his trousers.

Sherlock used the toilet like a big boy and began to wash his hands, but as he did so his eyes caught sight of something that made him freeze. His reflection. He blinked at the man in the mirror. The man was tall, far too skinny for his own good, had short and curly brown hair, the bluest of eyes, and cheekbones so sharp and prominent that they looked like they could cut through ice. Sherlock blinked. The man blinked back.

'Who are you?' he whispered and tilted his head to one side. The mans lips moved to form the same question and he also tilted his head.

'Who are you?' Sherlock asked again but the man gave no reply, he simply repeated the question again. Sherlock placed a hand on the cool glass and flinched back as the man did the same.

'I'm you,' a voice answered in his mind, accompanied by the horrible and painful scratching.

Sherlock let a scream rip from his throat and he began pounding his fists into the glass. The image of the man began to crack and Sherlock's fists were becoming bloody with deep cuts. Sherlock could still see the man through the cracks so he began to smash his head against the glass too, causing it to completely smash and his head to bleed profusely.

Greg looked up sharply from his slice of cake and ran to the bathroom. Sherlock was bashing his head against the mirror. There was blood everywhere and glass falling into the sink. What the hell had happened to– His reflection. That was the first time Sherlock had seen himself. Oh no.

'Sherlock. Sherlock stop!' Greg said firmly. He wrenched Sherlock away from the mirror and held a hand against the worst of the cuts on his forehead.

'Sherlock, why were you doing that?' he asked despite already knowing the answer. Sherlock screamed louder and punched his fists into Greggy's chest. He was past being able to calm down. His breathing came out in sharp stutters and his eyes were doing flips in his skull as he became weaker and weaker from the extensive blood loss. Greg accepted the abuse and soothed Sherlock softly. The poor man was truly lost and confused. He could tell he was on the verge of passing out, probably having a panic attack as well, so he talked to him quietly in the hopes of getting him to calm down enough.

'It's OK, Sherlock. It's OK. I'm so sorry you had to see yourself like that. Just go to sleep and I'll fix everything. Go to sleep.'

Sherlock's punches came to a standstill, his breathing hitched so high that it was practically non existent, and his eyes did one final flip. Sherlock's world turned black.

* * *

So Sherlock and John saw each other, but it wasn't exactly the reunion from the series. Don't worry. They'll meet again under different circumstances.

Next chapter should be up next week. See you then!

~TSA


	6. Chapter 6

Hello everyone! Happy Friday. I'm at work right now, making some minor edits to this while trying not to let anyone read over my shoulder. Not that anyone would seeing that barely anyone is at the library right now, but still. I have to be careful. I don't want to get reprimanded.

MJCF: Sherlock  
Me: Greg  
Shared: Mycroft

_Warnings for this chapter: continuation of the last chapter after Sherlock bashed his head into the mirror, Mycroft being a bit of a dick (but he softens), Mycroft and Greg get it on, Sherlock overhears and *things* start to happen._

* * *

Greg pulled out his mobile with shaking fingers and dialled Myc. He answered on the second ring.

'Sherlock bashed his head into the mirror and has already passed out from blood loss.'

'I'll send for a medical team.'

That was all he said. He hung up after that. The team indeed arrived a few minutes later and took Sherlock out of Greg's hands. They patched him up and laid him on his bed, hooking him up to a bag of blood. Greg watched from the doorway, shaking.

Sherlock awoke a good few hours later with a soft sob and instantly began to cry for Greggy.

Greg snuffled awake from his chair in the corner. He stretched and rubbed his eyes before going to Sherlock's side.

'Shhh. I'm here, Sherlock,' he said softly, taking hold of one of his hands gently.

'Where ith Croft?' Sherlock asked with big, sad eyes.

'Upstairs working,' Greg sighed sadly.

'Mmm. The insufferable idiot chose work over me again.' The voice that didn't quite belong broke through once more for a brief second before Sherlock quelled it and the scratching that came with it.

'Yes, he is an idiot,' Greg agreed with the real Sherlock. 'I'm sorry he's such an idiot. But I'm here for you Sherlock, and that's better than nothing.'

'Wanna thee im,' Sherlock whispered, squeezing Greggy's hand. 'I jush wan Croft.'

'You want Croft? Ok. I'll go get him.' He pressed Mr Bee into Sherlock's free hand and placed a tender kiss to his forehead. 'I'll be right back. Love you.'

Sherlock mumbled a 'Wuvv you,' and cuddled Mr Bee tightly.

Greg smiled softly and went up to Myc's study. He knocked gently and waited for Myc's typical grunt of approval. Instead, Myc opened the door himself.

'If he's asking for me he can stuff it.'

'Myc! He's bleeding and hurt! He really needs his brother right now.'

'Yeah? Well I want my real brother back! Not this copy! This child!'

'He's still your brother! He still remembers who you are! He has his own memories of your childhood together! He's still Sherlock, he's just five years old in a grown man's body.'

Myc didn't say anything, but he didn't shut the door in Gregory's face either.

'He saw his reflection today,' Greg continued. 'Smashed the mirror to bits because he didn't understand the man was him. We need to cover the mirrors and any reflective surface in the house. Or simply take them out. We'll manage without them. Besides, it's not like we really do anything requiring mirrors anyway.'

'Shaving,' Mycroft supplied.

'Then we can shave each other. But right now we need to care for Sherlock, and he needs his brother right now. Go to him. And be nice.'

'Alright. Alright, fine.' He closed the door behind him as he left and went down to Sherlock's room. He knocked on the door softly, not wanting to disturb Sherlock if he was asleep.

'Croft?' Sherlock whispered softly, hearing the light knock.

'Yes. You wanted to see me?'

Sherlock nodded slightly. 'Can you finith Treathure Island for me?'

'Yeah. Sure.' He sat on the bed and pulled Sherlock into his lap. 'Shall I start from the beginning?'

Sherlock shook his head. 'Read from where we thopped. Finith the thory like I promithed.'

'Ok. Remind me where we stopped in the story? It's been a while since I last read it to you.'

Sherlock sniffled and shrugged. 'I forget. Thought thince you're older n know everything you'd wemember.'

Mycroft searched his memory of Sherlock's visit. Granted, he was drugged at the time, but he remembered the visit like it was yesterday.

'Ok. I remember now. Are you comfortable?'

Sherlock settled down into his brother's chest and smiled, his free hand twisting in the fabric of old croft's suit.

'Very,' he hummed happily.

'Ok.' He clutched Sherlock's hand tightly and started reciting the story by memory, using the proper voices for each pirate.

Sherlock settled against Old Croft further, his eyes slipping shut.

'Wuvv you Croft. Thorry for making you hate me,' he whispered as he fell asleep.

'I don't hate you, Sherlock,' Mycroft whispered. He continued the story to make sure Sherlock was really asleep. Once he finished he tucked Sherlock in and kissed his forehead.

'Goodnight, Sherlock. I love you.' He returned to Gregory and cuddled up against him in bed.

'I'm guessing it went well?' Greg smiled.

Mycroft moulded into his husband with ease. 'Yes. I read him _Treasure Island_.' He swallowed slightly. 'Have I really given him the impression that I hate him?'

'Yes, I'm afraid you have. You've been quite... I don't know. Not yourself since the real Sherlock has slipped out.'

'I apologise. I suppose I am just scared for my brother. He's trapped... and I just want him back. The real him. The him that bickers with me and resents me. I want that brother back.'

'Yeah. I miss the stubborn idiot too,' Greg said softly. He held Myc close and ran a hand through his thinning hair. 'But at least having the child version of him is better than not having him at all.'

'True,' Mycroft whispered, smiling faintly. 'I just wish there was more that I could do to help him. And seeing him acting like a child again... it brought back some pretty nasty memories.'

'I can only imagine. But now's the chance to give him a proper childhood. Let him be a kid, Myc. Let him run around outside brandishing a wooden sword pretending to be a bee pirate. Let him have fun. The poor guy deserves it.'

'You're right,' Mycroft agreed. 'And I'll be the brother that I wasn't back then. I'll do right by him this time around.'

Greg hummed and kissed his husband softly, their lips moulding together. 'You'll be a great big brother,' he whispered before attacking Myc's lips once more.

'Mmmf! Ok, Gregory. I get the picture,' Mycroft purred. 'You want to collect your reward for eating all that cake.' He patted his husband's belly.

'God yes I do,' he moaned. He arched upward and pushed his stomach closer to Myc's hand, groaning loudly. 'Take me, please.'

'All in good time, Gregory.' Mycroft lunged his lips onto his husband's.

Greg moaned loudly and rut against Mycroft as they snogged, the bed creaking slightly as they both moved.

Sherlock awoke right then, all alone in the dark. The sharp, pointy thing was no longer in his arm. He wriggled from the bed, clutching Mr Bee to him tightly. He padded to Old Croft and Greggy's room. He was scared. He didn't like being alone. When he got there, however, he could hear them having a rather loud conversation. He sat outside the door, not wanting to be rude by interrupting them.

'Come on, Myc, please!' Greg begged, rubbing his erection against his husband's thigh. 'It's been a long day! I need this! And you promised!'

Mycroft groaned. He stopped teasing his husband and started preparing him.

'Ready?' he asked after a few minutes.

'Yes! Oh god, yes! Take me!' He was so aroused and wanting he was shaking. He needed Myc inside him, now. Who knew when they'd be able to do this again now that kid Sherlock was around?

Mycroft slowly pushed himself inside with a grunt. 'Oh, Gregory,' he whispered as he started to move hard and fast.

'Oh god! Myc!' Greg cried. He wrapped his legs around his husband's waist and pulled him in deep, crying out when he hit his prostate.

'So, Gregory,' Mycroft groaned. 'Will you be eating lots more cake in the future?' He rubbed his husband's stomach and thrust harder.

Meanwhile, outside the room, Sherlock was feeling strange again. As he listened to the noises Old Croft and Greggy were making he was becoming hot and then his trousers were becoming tighter. Images flashed through his mind of the nice, blonde haired man and he felt himself get flustered further. He snaked a hand down his trousers and began to move his hand up and down his penis, which for some odd reason was standing erect.

'Mmm.' He whimpered at the strange sensations now flooding through him.

'Yes! God yes! I'll eat anything you feed me if it means you fuck me like this! Oh god! Feels so good! Don't stop!' He groaned loudly and pulled Myc down for a searing kiss, thrusting his tongue down his throat in time with Myc's thrusts.

Mycroft grinned and began to fondle Gregory's bollocks.

'Cum for me, love.'

'Gah! Fuck! Myyyyc!' Greg cried out as he came. He clutched to him tight, his entire body shaking with the force of his orgasm. After all that had happened with Sherlock a good orgasm was exactly what he needed.

Mycroft cried out as he came too, his entire body shuddering with the force of it.

Sherlock was panting by now and when he heard the loud cries from inside the room he felt his body tense. Suddenly a sticky substance was spurting out onto his hand, stomach, and chest. It was everywhere! Sherlock didn't like it. He didn't like it one bit. He screamed as his body shuddered and the sticky substance kept on flying onto him.

'Oh no,' Greg groaned. 'Please not now. Please. Not so soon after cumming.'

Sherlock continued to flail on the floor, moaning and groaning loudly, red in the face and crying.

Greg groaned loudly and shifted slightly so Myc could pull out. He pulled on a pair of pyjamas and opened the door, shocked to find Sherlock flailing on the floor, his cock hanging out of his trousers, and cum everywhere.

'Sherlock?' He crouched down to his level and spoke softly. 'Sherlock, are you ok?'

Sherlock shook his head and sobbed. 'N-n-no,' he stammered. 'I dun like thith. I'm all thicky. H-elp me p-p-please.'

'Ok. Come on. Can you stand?' He held a hand out for Sherlock to take.

Sherlock took the hand and practically leapt into Greggy's arms with a wet slap due to the sticky substance he was covered in.

'Oh Sherlock,' Greg sighed softly, hugging him tightly. 'It's gonna be ok. I'm gonna clean ya up and then you can sleep with me and Myc. Ok?'

Sherlock whimpered. 'Greggy, I dun like thith,' he reiterated.

'I know. Come on.' He took him into his and Myc's bathroom, sitting Sherlock on the loo and taking off his stained clothes. There really was cum everywhere. Spattered on the shirt and trousers, caked in his pants, all over his hand and wrist, and a few spurts had landed on his face. Greg wet a cloth and cleaned Sherlock gently, making sure he got everything so Sherlock was no longer sticky.

'There. All gone,' he smiled softly. 'You feeling ok now?'

Sherlock nodded. 'Dun underthand what happened,' he whispered. 'I heard you n Croft n I got all hot, n there wath a blonde man in my head.' He sniffed loudly.

'You were listening to us?' Greg asked softly, smoothing a hand through Sherlock's hair.

Sherlock nodded again. 'I wath thcared. Didn't wanna be awone. N I came to see you b' you were talking with Croft.'

'Yes. We were having a rather loud discussion weren't we?' He hummed and pressed a tender kiss to Sherlock's forehead. 'How about this? If Myc and I are gonna have another loud talk, I'll shut and lock our bedroom door tight so you know we don't want to be interrupted. If you still want one of us after we're done talking you can knock on the door and one of us will help you. Think that'll work?'

Sherlock nodded and wrapped his arms around Greggy. 'I wuvv you Greggy.' He winced as the scratching once again pounded against his ear drums.

'And when I get out I'm going to fucking kill you both.' He whimpered and groaned, rubbing the back of his head.

'I wouldn't expect anything less,' Greg laughed softly. 'Come on.' He stood Sherlock up and sat him on the edge of the bed. He rifled through a drawer and came back with a very loose and stretched shirt and some pyjama bottoms. He helped Sherlock into both and then they crawled into bed, Sherlock on the outside and Greg in the middle.

'Goodnight, Sherlock,' Greg yawned. 'Goodnight, Myc.' Myc snored loudly in response, already fast asleep. Greg smiled softly and closed his eyes, sleep close for him too. 'I love you both.'

* * *

So Greg and Myc finally got to be alone... but it didn't last very long. Sherlock doesn't want to be alone for long periods of time. He's afraid of himself, in a sense. But Greg will be there to help him pick up the pieces. Myc will do his best, but he is Mycroft and he'll find himself slipping away until something terrible happens and then he's sucked right back in.

Next chapter will be up next week, but it might slow down after that as June 11 approaches. I'll tell you why in the notes of the next chapter. Some of you may already know, or suspect why you know, but I'm not telling you anything until next week.

Cheers!

TSA + MJCF


	7. Chapter 7

Hello everyone. Please accept my sincerest apologies and forgive me for updating this so late. My weekend was swamped with busy work and I had literally no time because I was getting ready for a special visitor (see end notes for more on this). I finally have a bit of a break, so I'm updating this story as well as the other one I'm writing with MJCF.

MJCF: Sherlock  
Me: Greg  
Shared: Mycroft

_Warnings for this chapter: child abuse, Mycroft has anger issues, Sherlock steals a car, minor car collision, angst._

* * *

A few months had passed since Sherlock had come to live with Old Croft and Greggy. Things had been going well... for the most part. As time passed, it became clear that Old Croft got angry easily. Every time Sherlock wet the bed, which was still quite often as he frequently had nightmares about his father and the bad man, Old Croft would get furious. And as Sherlock became more adventurous and got into more mischief, Old Croft got angrier and more frustrated. On some occasions Sherlock had flinched away from his brother because he'd been certain he was going to receive a punch. Greggy was always there to cuddle him and make things better though.

And now Sherlock needed Greggy again but he didn't know where Greggy was. It was just him and furious Old Croft raising his fist, to hit out at Sherlock, whilst a pile of fumes and broken glass lay on the floor. He instantly began to wet himself and the fist closed in on him.

'Greggy!' he screamed.

**...::-::...**

Greg was back at work, but it was one of those days where the criminals of London all seemed to be taking a holiday. Nothing was going on except a lot of paperwork to catch up on. But he couldn't concentrate. He worried about Sherlock constantly.

He'd been living with them for a few months now, and it was evident that his mind was repairing itself. When he first came to them he had a lisp and sometimes couldn't pronounce his r's or l's, but now the lisp was gone and he was better and pronouncing bigger and better words. Greg guessed he was probably around the mental age of eight now. Sherlock gave a whole new meaning to the phrase 'they grow up so fast.'

Mycroft was also revealed to be the most impatient and easily irritated person of all freaking time. He had no patience around Sherlock and apparently his father's abusive demeanour squeaked through frequently. Greg had stopped Myc from hitting Sherlock so many times he'd lost count. He hated leaving them alone for so long while he was at work, and sometimes Sherlock would have bruises around his upper arms from Myc dragging him away from his lab and shutting him in his room.

He decided to take an early lunch to check on the two of them. He locked up his office and headed out to his car, driving back to Myc's as quickly as he could. As soon as he opened the door he could smell the tension in the air. Or was that one of Sherlock's experiments gone wrong? Probably both. He rushed inside and ran to Sherlock's lab, just in time to see Myc strike Sherlock across the face.

Sherlock heard the punch before he felt it. He toppled to the ground with a scream. Blood spurted from his nose fast and thick.

'I'm sorry!' Sherlock wailed.

'Myc!' Greg yelled, stomping over to the two men and placing himself between them. Myc's hand was still clenched in a fist, his knuckles red with Sherlock's blood. He glared up at his husband and he glared right back at him. Greg didn't budge, even growled a bit in fact, and ordered Myc to leave and take his meds. He huffed and left the room in a flurry, a door slamming behind him as he shut himself away. Greg sighed and made himself relax, taking deep breaths as the tension rolled off his shoulders. He finally turned to Sherlock and knelt down to his level, smoothing his soft curls out of his face.

'I'm so sorry I didn't get home sooner,' he apologised softly. 'And I'm sorry he hit you. Can you tell me what happened? Did you accidentally break a beaker again?'

'Yeah.' Sherlock sobbed breathily. 'I broke some beakers with some liquids inside of them. And Croft got mad. He got really mad. I tried to say sorry but... but he was just so angry! And now I've wet myself again and he hit me, just like father used to.'

'I'll have a talk with him after I get you cleaned up. Well, maybe you and I should go out and find you some less dangerous activities. We can give Croft some time to settle down and you and I can spend some time together.' He eyed the blood drying on Sherlock's chin. 'Come on. Let's clean ya up and then we can go.'

'Ok, Greggy.' Sherlock got to his feet and grabbed Greggy's hand. 'I didn't mean to break the beakers. I tripped over. I was going to clean it up, but Croft got here first. I did say sorry but he didn't seem to hear me.'

'Yeah. I'm sorry about Croft. But let's not fret over him right now. Let's get ya cleaned up and we can go shopping. Maybe even have lunch. Sound good?'

Sherlock nodded and turned to pull Greggy into a tight hug. 'Thank you, Greggy. You're a nice man.'

'You're quite welcome, Sherlock. You're a good boy, no matter how angry Croft gets. I see the good boy you really are.' He hugged Sherlock tight and kissed his forehead. 'Come on. Clean clothes and we'll wash your face.' Sherlock grinned and went with Greggy to the bathroom, allowing him to wash his face and clean him up.

'Your nose doesn't seem to be broken,' Greg said as he cleaned the blood off Sherlock's face. 'I think it might just be sprained slightly, but it should heal just fine.' He then took Sherlock's soiled clothes off and let them soak in the sink. He took Sherlock out to his bedroom and helped him into some clean pants, jeans, a t-shirt, and a hoodie. He put Sherlock's shoes on as well, tying them swiftly.

'Ok. All set.' He grinned at Sherlock as he stood up. 'Ready to go out for lunch?'

'Yeah!' Sherlock grinned toothily. 'Where are we going?' he asked, jumping to his feet. 'Can I have cake?'

'We can go to Cake Boy,' Greg suggested. 'I could go for some tea and pastries right now.'

Sherlock laughed happily and hugged Greggy before placing a delicate kiss to his cheek.

'I love you Greggy. Let's go get cake!'

'Love you too, Sherlock.' Greg laughed. 'To the car!' He dashed away, Sherlock close behind, both of them laughing the entire way.

Sherlock giggled as they reached the car. 'Greggy,' he whispered, staring at him with a burning familiarity. 'Can we go on an adventure?'

'Sure,' Greg smiled, buckling Sherlock in. 'Where d'ya wanna go?'

'Anywhere. Just far away from Croft. I don't like living here anymore, Greggy. I'm scared all the time. You say he's gonna change, but he doesn't. I just wanna escape. He hurts me so much.'

'Wait... You mean like, running away?' Greg sighed and hung his head. 'I'm afraid I can't do that, Sherlock. I can't just leave my husband like that. I can't. He's not like this all the time. He's got bipolar disorder, meaning he has major mood swings day to day. It's not you, it's his illness.'

Tears rose in Sherlock's eyes. 'But he hurts me. He always hurts me. And when you're not there he–' He rubbed at his eyes. 'He hits me, Greggy. Over and over. He hits me! I'm so scared! Greggy, please.'

'He _repeatedly _hits you?' Greg was seething now. Myc was turning into his father. If this was how he acted with Sherlock he didn't want to even imagine how he would act with his own child.

'I can't take you away, but... I don't know. Maybe I can talk some sense into Myc. Please stay. I don't want you to go.'

'You always say that! Please, Greggy. Just you and me on an adventure, away from him. I can't leave on my own.' Sherlock wrinkled up his nose. 'I'm only eight. That would be silly. I need a grown up.' His lower lip trembled. 'I need you.'

Greg sighed and shook his head. 'How about we go on an adventure today, we can go for a drive, maybe go to a park or something. But I can't leave Myc. I can't. I love him.'

'So you don't love me?' Sherlock questioned. 'You don't care that he's hurting me? What if–' His eyes widened. 'What if he hurts me so badly I don't wake up? Does he love you? Is that why he shouts at you all the time? Is that why he makes you eat /whole/ cakes? Cus if that's love I dun wanna grow up. I dun wanna love.'

'Of course I love you, Sherlock,' Greg frowned. 'What makes you think I don't love you? But I love your brother too. And of course he loves me. The cake thing... I eat the cake because I like it and it makes him happy. And every couple fights, Sherlock. Myc is just really stressed since you arrived and he's trying to juggle work and me and you. He's not doing very well right now but he'll learn. He loves you, he does, he's just very, very stressed right now. Will you please let me talk to him?'

'No!' Sherlock huffed. 'I'm not going back to that... monster. And the cake is making you fat! Just like him. Only worse. You're a terrible looking fat person. You don't hurt the ones you love, Greggy. Especially... especially ones who you have lost. I hear you talking sometimes about how you lost me. And why does he scream for the real me? This is the real me. I am the real! And I am not going back to him.'

Greg sighed again and hung his head against Sherlock's shoulder. Was Myc really such an abusive brother? Greg didn't want to believe it, but he'd seen Sherlock's injuries. He choked back a sob, trying to rein in his emotions. Sherlock hated it here, hated being around Myc so much he wanted to run away. Run away with him, the nice man. Who was getting fat apparently. He needed to stop with the cakes and hit the gym again. Myc was a terrible influence. And the sex wasn't all that great anymore, and he constantly felt like he had heartburn due to his larger gut. It was time for a change.

'I still can't run away, but I'm gonna make him change. And I'm gonna exercise so I won't be fat anymore. I'll make Myc do it too. But please, I can't go away with you. I have a job to do at the police station. I can't quit and I'm too young to retire.' He choked on another sob and a few tears escaped. 'I can't leave, but I can promise you I'll be enforcing changes around here. Good changes. Please stay, Sherlock. Please.'

'Don't cry, nice man,' Sherlock whispered. 'Please don't cry.' He worried at his lower lip. 'I dun wanna stay. I really dun wanna stay. But I don't want you to be sad. So I guess I'll just be sad instead.'

'I don't want you to be sad either,' Greg sniffled. 'Which is why I'm gonna make some big changes at home. I promise. If things don't get better after that... I'll go on an adventure with you.'

'Why give him a chance? I think you've given him plenty of those. I wan you to go on an adventure with me. Now. Not later.' Sherlock's tears were falling horrifically now. 'I just wanna get away... with you. Please?'

'I... I can't take us away forever, but we can leave for the rest of the day. Can we start with that?' Greg asked, choking up at just the thought of disappearing from Myc's life forever.

'Ok, but I dun wanna return.' Sherlock cried. 'It's fine. Leave me. Just leave me behind and go to your Myc.'

'Stop it, Sherlock. Stop it right now!' Greg was suddenly quite angry. 'I love you too, but I'm committed to your brother. I will protect you when I can but I'm not going to leave him without justifiable cause. And I'm not going to just abandon you at the side of the freaking road! You are not leaving!'

Sherlock flinched backward and held his face in his hands. 'Him hitting me isn't reason enough? What will it take? Croft killing me?'

'I'm sorry, Sherlock, but we aren't leaving. And Myc isn't going to kill you! He lost you once, and I can promise you that he won't be the reason for losing you again!'

'Then I'm just gonna run away!'

'No you are not!' Greg took him out of the car and dragged Sherlock back to his room. 'Sit in here while I talk with Myc. You aren't going anywhere until Myc and I have talked.' A breathy hiccup escaped Sherlock's lips and he curled up on his bed, sobbing loudly.

Greg sighed but left Sherlock alone. He really needed to speak to Myc. He closed Sherlock's door and locked it behind him. He stomped upstairs and pounded his fist against Myc's office door.

'Myc!' he shouted. 'Myc, we need to talk!'

Sherlock lay in bed for awhile. That was until the shouting started. It wasn't an uncommon thing. Greggy and Old Croft argued often.

He rolled from the bed and swallowed. Greggy didn't want him to run away but Sherlock didn't want to stay here a moment longer. He silently sneaked out of his room and through the mansion, the shouting becoming more and more distant.

He eyed up the car keys he could see and snatched them before padding outside. He walked to the car and slid into it and onto the drivers seat. Sherlock knew what he was doing was wrong. He was only eight. Eight year old boys don't drive. But Sherlock had watched Greggy drive billions of times and so he had a fairly good idea of how to drive. He slid in the keys and turned them. The car roared to life. He then hit the right pedal and began to turn the wheel.

Sherlock drove off, out of the mansion, away from the pain, tears filling his vision.

'How often do you abuse him?' Greg demanded.

'I don't!'

'I beg to differ! I saw you hit him today! And I've seen the bruises on his arms! He also says you hit him when I'm not here! Myc–'

'Don't. Don't you fucking say it.'

'Myc, you're just like your father!'

'No, I'm not!' he roared. He lunged forward and grasped Gregory's shoulders tightly. 'I am nothing like him! You've never met him! How would you know?'

'Because of the evidence right here in front of my face,' Greg spat. Myc reluctantly released his hold but didn't back off.

'I'm not as cruel as he is,' he growled quietly.

'I find that very hard to believe. Sherlock thinks you're going to kill him. He wants to run away... with me. He hates living here Myc, hates being alone with you.'

Myc's face fell. 'He does? But I would never... could never... I'm not going to kill him!'

'How is he supposed to know that if you beat him constantly? And how am I supposed to trust you around our own child if this is how you treat your own brother? Myc, I don't want to start a family with you right now. Maybe not ever if this behaviour continues. You need to take your fucking medication and take some fucking anger management classes! Get control of all that fucking rage or go to a fucking gym and punch a punching bag until your knuckles bleed! Take care of yourself! And take better fucking care of me too! Look at what you've done to me! Look at what I've put myself through to make you happy! Look at how fat I am!'

'You aren't fat, Gregory.'

'Yes, I am! Sherlock thinks so too! From now on, no more cakes or sweets or the fucking like in the house. You and I are going on diets and we're gonna fucking exercise!' Myc merely nodded. 'Good! Now I'm gonna–'

The revving of a car engine pulled them back down to reality. Greg paled and Mycroft just looked confused. Greg ran down the stairs and to the garage just in time to see his car peel away down the road. Who the hell was driving? Could it be? Oh no.

'Gregory?' Myc asked, appearing behind him and very much out of breath. 'What's going on?'

'Your brother stole my fucking car.'

**...::-::...**

Sherlock sped along the roads. He just wanted to escape. It didn't matter where. He just needed to find a place where Greggy and Old Croft wouldn't find him. Old Croft would get angry and Greggy would make him go back. Right now all Sherlock wanted was cake. Mmm, cake.

Sherlock blinked as the car suddenly swerved out of control. He squealed as it crashed into another car. This was exactly why little boys didn't drive cars!

In a panic, Sherlock burst out of the car. His head was hurting badly and placing a hand on it revealed it to be bleeding heavily. A man was yelling at him, calling him an idiot. Sherlock ignored the man and hobbled away from the scene as fast as his slightly wobbly legs could take him.

He had to run. He had to get away. He didn't belong anywhere.

**...::-::...**

'And exactly how long have you had a tracking device in my bloody car?'

'Long enough,' was Myc's vague answer. 'Turn right up ahead.'

'This is insane. Chasing down your brother like he's a common criminal.'

'He's a petty criminal. Stealing your car and all.'

'Shut up and find him.'

'He's stopped. A few blocks ahead.' Greg craned his neck and indeed saw his car just up ahead. But it was smoking and that wasn't good at all. The black car stopped and Myc and Greg got out to inspect the scene. Seemed Sherlock had crashed into another car and had fled. But where had he gone now.

'We should–'

'No, Myc. He's terrified of you, remember?' Greg reached into his belt and pulled out a torch, clicking it on. 'Stay here and call me if you see anything.' He disappeared down a back alley, calling Sherlock's name softly.

Sherlock somehow found his way to Cake Boy. Greggy had taken him there a ton of times and it would be the perfect place to hide. He got rather strange looks when he entered the restaurant. It was probably due to the fact he was an eight year old boy on his own, with a bleeding head. Still, he was shown a table by a very nervous looking waitress. He ordered every cake and pastry item on the menu and happily began to tuck in.

Greg dove down each alley searching for Sherlock. It wasn't until he reached another main road that he realised where he was. He saw the shop down the street and breathed out a sigh of relief. Where else would the boy go for comfort? He put his torch away and dashed across the street. He entered the shop as calmly as he could, but as soon as he saw Sherlock sat in the back munching on a blueberry pastry he damn near burst into tears. He rushed over to his side and knelt down beside him, hushing him softly as he pressed a napkin to his slightly bleeding forehead.

'I'm sorry, Sherlock. I'm so sorry. I never meant for you to run away like this. I'm sorry about Croft too. He's an idiot. You and I are gonna get away for a little while, ok? Just you and me and no Croft. It won't be forever, but we can get away. Does that sound ok?'

'Ok. Sorry I ran away,' Sherlock said, licking his lips and humming at the taste of blueberries. 'We're gonna go on an adventure!'

'Yes. Yes, we are. And we can go to a place that has a swimming pool. Do you know how to swim?'

Sherlock nodded and grinned. 'Croft taught me. Not Old Croft. Nice Croft. My brother. Not that... monster.'

'Yes. I told Old Croft off. But... he's the one who brought me here. And since my car is pretty badly wrecked he'll have to drive us back home to get our stuff together. I'll make him sit in the front and you and I can sit together in the back and ignore him. Do you think you can do that?'

'Ok.' Sherlock nodded. 'As long as I get to finish all my pastries first.'

'We can take them with us,' Greg offered. 'And we can eat them during our adventure. How many did you order anyway?'

Sherlock bit his lip. 'The whole menu.'

Greg's eyes flew wide open. 'The entire–? Seriously, Sherlock? You ordered everything?' He began to laugh softly and shook it's head. 'Well, I guess it's a good thing I inherited part of Myc's fortune. I'll pay for this, ok? And we'll get everything else to go and then we'll go home and get ready for an adventure, ok?'

'Yay! May I go wait outside, Greggy? I promise not to run off.'

'Well, ok. But let me see your head first.' He peeled the napkin off Sherlock's forehead and examined the bloody cut. He didn't have a deep cut, thank goodness, but it would need to be cleaned and probably bandaged.

'You'll be ok. Go wait outside. I'll be with ya in a moment.'

Sherlock grinned and sped out of the restaurant, waiting for Greggy to return.

'Hey. Sherlock, right?'

Sherlock almost jumped out of his skin at the sound of his name. He turned around to see who the voice belonged to.

'Um... yes,' he squeaked upon the sight of a large and daunting looking man.

The man laughed loudly. 'There was word on the street that you weren't really dead.'

'D-ead?'Sherlock gulped. He didn't like this man. He especially didn't like the way he was looking at him.

The man raised his eyebrows. 'Well, obviously, the fall. The fall of the great Sherlock Holmes. Were you really a fake? Is this the real you now? A coward. A stuttering idiot?' The man scoffed. 'My name's Rick by the way. Rotten Rick. I'm Dave's brother. Remember him? Well let me tell you that what your brother did to my brother... I'm gonna get my revenge for it, ok?'

'I'm sorry,' Sherlock swallowed thickly.

'Yeah, whatever. Sorry ain't gonna cut it! You'll be seeing me around a lot, Sherlock Holmes. You'll rue the day you met my brother!'

Greg was still inside the restaurant and missed the entire exchange.

'That was really sweet,' a waitress said.

'Hmm?' Greg looked up at the pretty brunette.

'What you did for your boyfriend.' She pointed to the door Sherlock had run out of.

'Boyfriend? Oh, no, he's not my boyfriend.'

'Oh?' She smiled widely and fluttered her lashes as she helped Greg box up all the pastries.

'No. He's my brother-in-law.'

'Oh. Sorry. I–'

'It's alright. While I'm flattered by your interest, I'm afraid I'm already taken.'

'He's a lucky man then,' she smiled. 'But the man you're with... Is he alright?'

Greg sighed and shook his head. 'From what I've gathered, he went through quite a traumatic experience and now has the mentality of a child. But he's getting better. He seems to prefer me over his actual brother though.'

'You're a nice man. I'd like it if you took care of me,' she muttered softly. She blushed crimson at her words. 'Sorry. Sorry.'

Greg laughed lightly. 'It's fine. You have no idea how much I needed to hear that right now. So, thank you.' She flushed again and handed him the boxes of cakes and pastries, whispering the total in his ear. Greg's eyes nearly popped out of his skull but he paid it in full, leaving the girl a twenty pound tip for her compliments and generosity. She waved goodbye and Greg met Sherlock outside.

'Hey, you ok? You look a little pale.'

Sherlock swallowed and nodded. He didn't want to tell Greggy about the man for some reason.

'I'm fine.' He smiled and pecked Greggy on the cheek. 'Just scared that Croft will be angry with me.'

'I won't let him speak at all if that'll help.' He pulled out his phone and sent a quick text to Mycroft.

_At Cake Boy. Need ride home. And you can't speak to Sherlock at all. Still scared. –GH_

**_Ok. Be there soon. –MH_**

Sherlock kissed Greggy on the cheek again.

'You're a pretty man,' he said, grinning. 'And you're so nice.'

'Pretty? I thought I was fat? Well, I am. But I'm gonna fix that.'

'You're not fat. I'm sorry I said that, Greggy. You're pretty. Really pretty.'

'You haven't called me pretty before.' _Not since that god awful night we shagged._ 'But thank you.'

A black car pulled up in front of them and Greg opened the rear door. Mycroft was inside.

'Nope. Get in the front. Now.' Myc opened his mouth to protest but Greg interrupted him. 'No. Get in the front. No speaking.' Myc huffed and moved into the front passenger seat. Greg helped Sherlock in and placed the boxes on the floor between them. The driver sped off for home. Greg's mobile chimed.

_**Your car is fine. Just a dent in the front. Sherlock didn't destroy it. –MH**_

_Ok. Thanks. Is it at home? –GH_

_**Yes. –MH**_

_Ok. I'll be needing it later. –GH_

_**For what? –MH**_

Greg didn't answer. It was answer enough for Myc.

* * *

Alright. So, I'll be uploading a chapter on Saturday while I'm at work. Both on here as well as on FFNet. Maybe even the following Saturday as I have that as a scheduled break day.

You might be slightly confused right now. Why am I scheduling next Saturday as a designated break day?

BECAUSE MJCF IS COMING TO AMERICA TO VISIT ME ON THE 11TH ALL THE WAY THROUGH TO THE 25TH! WE'RE FINALLY GOING TO MEET IN PERSON AND SHE'S SPENDING TWO WEEKS WITH ME! *SCREAMS*

Yes! We're finally going to meet face-to-face. We've been RPing for almost a year-and-a-half now, and we've been penpals for pretty much a year. And now we're going to meet face-to-face and she's going to be staying for two weeks. I have a lot of stuff planned, from dying our hair to going to a theme park to swimming in one of Michigan's Great Lakes. It's going to be a ton of fun. We'll roast marshmallows and make s'mores too. She's never had a proper s'more, and I plan on fixing that. AND she'll be eating her first ever Poptart! Such fun!

We'll see you later this week and if you want to check out our adventures, find us on tumblr at sherlocksbuttbelongstous. We'll be posting updates there of her trip and funny selfies too.

Until next time!

~TSA + MJCF


	8. Chapter 8

Good morning, everyone. I'm a zombie today because I didn't sleep much last night. It was too cold and I couldn't warm up, and I kept waking up every couple of hours for whatever reason. And now I'm stuck at work until 5 p.m. EST. I'm going to be dead by the time my day is over.

Anyway, this chapter is a bit shorter, and picks up right where the last chapter left off. So if you want to read then end of that before reading this to refresh your memory, go right ahead.

MJCF: Sherlock  
Me: Greg  
Shared: Mycroft

_Warnings for this chapter: Greg gets an awkward erection, Sherlock tries to help him through it (there's no pedophilia, so don't worry), masturbation, Holmes brother feels, kid!lock feels, so many feels._

* * *

Sherlock lay down on the back seat with a soft sigh. 'You are pretty though, and smart, and you're not scared of anything or anyone. I wanna be just like you when I grow up.' He nuzzled Greggy's lap happily until the man began to squirm and moan.

'Is Greggy ok?' Sherlock asked.

'Just... stop nuzzling me down there,' Greg moaned out, red in the face that he couldn't control himself. Granted, he and Myc hadn't had sex since Sherlock accidentally heard them. And right now he was horny as hell. And Sherlock's nuzzling his crotch wasn't helping one little bit.

'Why not?' Sherlock giggled at how red in the face Greggy was getting. He went back to nuzzling his lap, giggling loudly as he added more pressure.

'Oh god,' Greg groaned, whimpering slightly. 'Stop, please!'

'You dun wan me to,' Sherlock giggled. 'Not really.' He carried on his nuzzling.

'Sherlock,' Greg moaned, his hips canting up against his will. 'You need to stop. You know what happened to you when you listened to my loud conversation with Croft? That's what you're doing to me. So stop, please.' He moaned loudly again and threw his head back against the seat, forcing his hips to stop moving.

'I was scared. You're not scared. You're happy. You need to be happy, Greggy. I want to see you happy cus you're always so sad.' He moved away and ran his fingertips over the lump in Greggy's trousers before squeezing it tightly and laughing loudly. 'Happy Greggy! Happy!'

'No!' Greg slapped Sherlock's hand away no matter how much his cock ached for its touch. 'No. Sherlock, you're eight. That's just wrong on so many levels. No.'

'I just wanna make you happy! Dun care if it's wrong for an eight year old! I drove a car. What eight year olds do that? Greggy, when you're sad, I'm sad. Please.' Sherlock sniffled and moved his hand to Greggy's lap once more.

'No. Sherlock. I'll take care of it when we get home.'

_**Pervert –MH**_

_Asshole –GH_

'Is the monster making Greggy sadder?' Sherlock whispered, abandoning Greggy's lap to hug him. 'It's ok, Greggy. We're gonna be free soon n we're gonna go on an adventure, far away from him.'

'He doesn't make me sad. You being sad makes me sad. I want you to be happy, so we'll go on an adventure for a bit and maybe things will be better later.' The car stopped in front of the mansion and Greg breathed a huge sigh of relief. Myc leapt out and went back to his study, making sure not to slam the door behind him at the very least.

'I'll meet you in your room in a few minutes, ok? Go gather some clothes and books and toys and I'll bring ya a suitcase,' Greg told Sherlock. He was aching in his trousers, his cock hard and hot and incredibly heavy. He needed to take care of that, and bloody soon.

Sherlock nodded and trotted off to his room. He grabbed Mr Bee and Lady Bee, an old and well loved copy of Treasure Island, and a stuffed pirate toy too. He got his pirate bee costume and a great coat too. Sherlock sometimes liked wearing the coat because it held a sense of familiarity about it. It smelt nice too.

Greg hobbled upstairs and collapsed on his bed, feet planted on the floor, knees spread wide. He could probably cum just by rutting against his trousers, but he didn't want to have to clean his pants. He opened his trousers and slid them down to his thighs, moaning as the pressure eased. He quickly pulled his cock out of his pants and slicked his hand with the pre-cum that was leaking out of him. He pumped his cock furiously, rocking his hips in time with his fist. God it all felt so bloody good. Oh fuck. Oh god. Not gonna last.

He came with a loud shout, cum shooting everywhere in thick spurts. He was still pumping his cock as he came down from his high, and it was still partially hard. Well, once more couldn't hurt. He kept pumping his cock to full hardness, still quite sensitive from his first orgasm, but it wasn't quite enough. He snaked his free hand down to fondle his balls and came rather quickly after that, moaning and groaning loudly. He was now completely and utterly spent, and covered in cum. He stripped out of his work clothes and put on regular ones, pulling out a suitcase and packing some clothes into it as well as a couple books. Feeling refreshed and invigorated, he went downstairs to Sherlock's room, smiling warmly.

'Ok. Got some of your things ready?'

Sherlock beamed at Greggy and nodded. 'I can't find my violin though. I wanna play her. Haven't played her in awhile.'

'I think she's in the sitting room,' Greg said. 'Go search for her. I'll pack your things.'

'May I play her before we leave?' Sherlock asked politely.

'Sure,' Greg smiled. 'I enjoy hearing you play.'

Sherlock grinned and all but ran to the sitting room. He found his violin there, patiently waiting for him to pick her up and play her. He picked her up gently and held her in the correct position. Once the bow touched his violin's strings the music began echoing out. The music was sad. The music was filled with anger. The music was filled with emotions that definitely didn't belong to a little boy. Each note held the promise of love, pain, and redemption. Each note sounded like a beautiful scream.

Greg started tearing up at the sounds coming from Sherlock's violin. They were far too complex for the mind of an eight-year-old. The real Sherlock was breaking through. When would he come back, if ever? Greg sniffled and packed Sherlock's things, including a few extra sets of clothes. Maybe they'd just take off for the rest of the week. It was only Wednesday after all. Maybe they could get away until Saturday. He zipped the suitcase and went out to the sitting room, listening to Sherlock play.

Sherlock moved through the house, his violin spreading music as he went. The music got sadder and angrier the closer he got to where Croft was.

Mycroft locked the door and went back to his work, ignoring Sherlock's angry music. The ungrateful little shit. He could have just abandoned him when he'd been dropped on his doorstep, let him die of blood loss and maybe some sort of infection. But no. He took him in because he was his brother. He couldn't let him die again. And now he was leaving with Gregory, who apparently still had a thing for him given by how easily Sherlock seemed to spark erections out of him. Fine. They could have each other. Gregory deserved better than a bipolar abuser anyway.

He screamed as Sherlock's music stopped right outside his door, growing louder and louder. He threw a glass something against the wall and screamed and sobbed, 'Go away already! If you hate it here so fucking much just leave! Don't rub it in you little bastard! Just take my Gregory and leave!'

Sherlock stilled his music, swallowed slightly and made a very brave decision. He opened the door to Old Croft's study. He stared at his angered brother for a long while before daring to venture closer. He placed his violin on a chair before walking up to his brother and tentatively wrapping him in a hug.

'I don't like it when I make you upset, Croft. But I don't like it when you hurt me either. You... you scare me.'

'That door was locked, Sherlock,' Myc sniffled. 'How'd you get in?'

'I think you broke the lock when you threw something at it.' Sherlock hugged his brother tighter.

Myc grunted and slowly wrapped his arms around Sherlock in a soft hug.

'I... I'm sorry. For everything,' he muttered quietly.

'It's ok, Croft. Me and Greggy are gonna go on an adventure. But Greggy said it's not forever.'

'Maybe... Maybe some time apart will be good for all of us. You and Greg can go on a holiday, and we'll all get a chance to relax. He good to him. And no more rubbing against his crotch. That's not good. He's my husband. Only I get to do that, ok?'

Sherlock frowned. 'It was making him happy... but ok.'

'He was embarrassed, Sherlock. You're a child. You shouldn't be touching a forty-five-year-old man's penis. It's against the law. Especially if someone touches yours.'

Sherlock tilted his head to one side. He could feel the scratching in his mind again. It was almost a constant thing now.

'Yes, because you've always done everything by the law, brother. Siding with a consulting criminal. Choosing Moriarty over me. You are such a fucking hypocrite.'

'Shut up, Sherlock. An eight-year-old touching my husband's cock is way beyond wrong. But I chose Moriarty because you would have died either way. I thought maybe I could warn you ahead of time, but I never got the chance. It all happened so fast, and I'm so sorry.'

'I am not eight years old,' Sherlock whimpered. 'Look we don't have much time. It won't be long till my younger self takes over the steering wheel. I have a lot of things that you need to hear.'

'Then tell me. Quickly.'

'Right, ok. Where do I start?' Sherlock sneered. 'How about the fact that my own brother sold me out! I had to die for the people I most cared about. Do you know who they were? No? They were John, Lestrade, Mrs Hudson, and... you. Yes, that's right. You were on the list of people I wasn't going to allow Moriarty to kill. But then Moriarty told me all about you and your dirty little meetings. Do you know how that makes me feel! Not once did you try to get to know me better. Not once did you take me out to a fucking restaurant. Not once did you chose work over fucking me. But Moriarty. Our precious bastard child of a brother? You had a closer relationship with him than you'll ever have with me. And I hate you. I hate you so much. And I'm not even certain I want to return. Maybe I'll go for a walk in my fucking mind palace and fucking stay there. At least my eight year old self is forgiving, right? Giving you a hug after scaring him shitless! Good fucking bye, Mycroft. Good fucking bye.'

'Sherlock, I know you won't accept my apology, but I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry. And don't you dare leave for good. Your Jonathan deserves to see you again. You can't leave him like this, Sherlock. He's a wreck without you. He needs you more than I ever did. Would killing myself make you come back and stay? Because I'd do it. You deserve a better brother than me.'

'Don't you fucking dare, brother! Just shut the fuck up! You need to get a bloody grip on your life! Do you know what would make me happy? John. But, here's the thing. I'm damaged, Mycroft. So fucking damaged. I can't go back to him, most certainly not like this. Answer me something. Does Greg know about your dirty little secret? Does he?! Does he know how easily you sold out family?!' A cold smile crept across Sherlock's features. 'Oh. He doesn't. Oh, that is interesting. You haven't told him. Why's that? Worried he'll leave you for someone better?'

'Some things are meant to be kept secret,' Myc growled. 'But you'll never understand why I did what I did. I'll explain it to you one day when you come back fully. But Moriarty was always supposed to die. I knew you would be able to outwit him, I just never expected you to fake your death in order to do it.'

'I don't believe you. I think you genuinely knew I was a dead man, and I think part of you was relieved. No more Sherlock. No more shit in your life.' Sherlock groaned and clutched his head. He didn't want to go. Not yet.

'Don't you fucking think that. Don't you fucking dare. You honestly think I would abandon you like that? After all our progress through the years? We'd been closer those bast two years than we'd ever been. I wasn't about to sacrifice you like that. No fucking way. When this is all over and you've come back I'll take you out to dinner every fucking night if you want. I promise.'

Sherlock shook his head. 'No. Too late, Mycroft. Far too late. When this is over I want shit all to do with you. You keep your distance from me, understood?' He quickly swiveled around and took a deep breath to steady the nausea threatening to overcome him as his eight-year-old self tried to gain control over his body. 'Greg deserves to know what kind of man he's married to.'

'I'll... I'll tell him after you guys go away. I... I'm sorry, Sherlock. I hate myself too for what I did to you. Just go. Leave. It's what you're going to do anyway once you come back.'

'No. I'll tell him. Now. In front of you. Then we'll leave. Greg! Greg, get here now!'

'Fine. Go ahead. I don't fucking care anymore.'

Greg rushed upstairs and entered the room, kneeling down beside the two brothers.

'Sherlock? What's wrong?'

'Mycroft was the one who caused all this. He betrayed me. Chose another brother over me. He abandoned me and basically left me as a dead man. He drove me to faking my death and he... he...' Sherlock groaned and let his head drop to his hands. 'He made me go through fucking torture. It was all him. Ask him. Ask him about all those meetings. Ask him about how he fucking betrays family!'

'Sherlock? What are you talking about? What other brother? Oh. Moriarty.' He turned to Myc. 'You chose Moriarty over him? Made him fake his death?'

'Yes,' he admitted, hanging his head in shame. 'Yes, I killed Sherlock. I put him through all this pain, chose Moriarty over him, but I never thought Sherlock would fake his death to protect us.'

'Protect us?'

'You, me, Mrs Hudson, and John.'

'Me?' He looked to Sherlock who was clutching his head in his hands, desperately trying to remain in control. 'You died to protect me?'

'Yes,' Sherlock choked out. 'And shut up Mycroft. I already told you. I didn't die to protect you. I was going to, but definitely not after your betrayal.'

'Sherlock, Sherlock look at me,' Greg said, taking his face in his hands. 'Your brother will explain everything to me later. I'll probably get mad and we'll probably yell, but please, don't stay angry at him. That's my job right now. You need to focus on healing your mind so you can come back completely. Then I'll let you yell at him all you want, ok?'

Sherlock stared at Greg intensely and with the last drop of strength spoke icy cold words.

'I'm not coming back. This was me saying goodbye, for good.'

'No. No you're not. Don't go, Sherlock. Please,' Greg begged. 'I can't... You can't go. You can't leave again. Please. Please don't go.' Tears were shining in his eyes, tears he'd never shed at Sherlock's funeral. He couldn't lose Sherlock again. He was one of his best friends, a good man, and an even better detective. He couldn't leave him again.

Sherlock blinked. 'Are we going on our adventure now, Greggy?'

'Sherlock?' Greg whimpered, his lower lip trembling. No. He couldn't be gone. No. God no. Please. He started crying, feeling more loss than he had at Sherlock's funeral. He hugged Sherlock to him and cried against his shoulder, sobbing loudly.

'Greggy? Why are you sad? Has Croft done something again? I don't like it when you're sad.' Sherlock joined in with Greggy's sobs.

Greg couldn't speak. He wouldn't even know what to say if he could. He shook his head and continued to sob, his entire body shaking.

Sherlock clutched Greggy tightly. 'Do you know what I do when I'm sad? I sing, Greggy. Do you want me to sing to you?'

Greg nodded and hauled Sherlock into his lap, hugging him tight.

_'How can you see into my eyes like open doors? Leading you down into my core where I've become so numb. Without a soul my spirit's sleeping somewhere cold until you find it there and lead it back home. Wake me up. Wake me up inside. I can't wake up. Wake me up inside. Save me. Call my name and save me from the dark. Wake me up. Bid my blood to run. I can't wake up. Before I come undone. Save me. Save me from the nothing I've become.'_

The song only caused Greg to cry harder. The words, god. They weren't helping at all. Sherlock was gone, lost in his mind, and wasn't coming back. He wasn't going to wake up. He shook his head and managed to choke out, 'Different song. Not this one. No.'

Sherlock swiftly transitioned into a different song, staring directly in Old Croft's direction now.

_'The air was cold, the night I fled. Your eyes were more than I could take. I ran so fast. I ran like hell. And still wasn't able to escape. The picture's still fixed in my head. The stage was all set at my request. __You took the roll. You played it well. I knew it would be easy for you. Strike me harder now. Push me to the ground. Pain is sweeter coming from your hand. I love you when you hurt me the most. So fell the lash, repeatedly. The icy words cut me deep, and still I begged for more. You gave no less, surrendering fully to the game. You took control. I took the blame. You had enough so you looked away. Deprived of love, deprived of pain. No choice but to keep on sinking. Strike me harder now. Push me to the ground. Pain is sweeter coming from your hand. Don't you leave me when I need you the most.' He took a shaky breath. Everyone was in hysterical tears by now. 'No pain or love left for your slave. My heart is torn yet you smile the same. I'll break the vow and I'll tell myself __the words that free me from you.'_

Myc ran from the room, sobbing like a goddamn baby. Greg clutched Sherlock tight and smoothed a hand through his curls.

'Sing a happy song,' he rasped out. 'Please.'

'I don't know any happy songs.' Sherlock sobbed and rubbed at his eyes before finding more lyrics passing his lips.

'Searching for something, can't seem to find. The blood on your fingers, still on my mind. And I just wish I could forgive you. Walking for days now, there's nowhere to go. Chasing horizons, being alone. I don't know where I should run to. Let the sun rise on me and never fade away. So save me. I'm drowning alive. And keep me from dying inside. I only want to find my way back home. But I can't make it alone.'

'I know a happy song. Let me sing it.'

'S-s-sing,' Sherlock stuttered. 'Greggy, sing for me.'

Greg hugged Sherlock close and began to sing softly in his ear.

_'If you ever find yourself stuck in the middle of the sea, I'll sail the world to find you. If you ever find yourself lost in the dark and you can't see, I'll be the light to guide you. Find out what we're made of when we are called to help our friends in need._

_'You can count on me like one, two, three, I'll be there._

_And I know when I need it_

_I can count on you like four, three, two, and you'll be there._

_'Cause that's what friends are supposed to do, oh yeah._

_'If you tossin' and you turnin' and you just can't fall asleep, I'll sing a song beside you. And if you ever forget how much you really mean to me, everyday I will remind you. Find out what we're made of when we are called to help our friends in need._

_'You can count on me like one, two, three, I'll be there. And I know when I need it I can count on you like four, three, two, and you'll be there. 'Cause that's what friends are supposed to do._

_'You'll always have my shoulder when you cry. I'll never let go, never say goodbye._

_'You know you can count on me like one, two, three, I'll be there._

_And I know when I need it_

_I can count on you like four, three, two, and you'll be there._

_'Cause that's what friends are supposed to do._

_'You can count on me 'cause I can count on you.'_

Sherlock whimpered and nuzzled his nose against Greggy's neck.

'I can count on you, Greggy. I can always count on you.'

'Good. That's good. And I hope, when you're older, I can count on you too.' He smoothed Sherlock's hair down and kissed his forehead. 'Let's go now, before I change my mind.'

'K. Wanna get out of here. Are you saying goodbye to Old Croft?'

'Not forever, but maybe for the rest of the week. We'll stay in a hotel somewhere, I'll take time off work, and it'll be just you and me until Sunday.'

'Thank you, Greggy. I love you so much.'

'I love you too, Sherlock. Come on.' He picked Sherlock up off the floor and carried him over to his violin. Sherlock picked it up and cradled it against his chest. Greg carried him downstairs, grabbed their suitcase and Sherlock's violin case, and then went to the car. He helped Sherlock into the front passenger seat and tossed the suitcase in the back. He put the violin in its case carefully and out it in the back as well too. He sat in the driver's seat and started the car, backing out of the drive and pulling away toward the city, away from Myc and the pain. But the pain wouldn't be gone for long. It was sure to come back. It always did.

* * *

So many feels. Greg and Sherlock are going to go away for a while, and they'll bond and Mycroft will be left alone to reflect on what he's done with his life since Sherlock returned.

A chapter might not be posted next week, but we'll still try to get one out. Whether it's early or late, we'll try to get one out so you guys won't have to wait two weeks for an update.

Until next time,

~TSA + MJCF


	9. Chapter 9

Hello all. Happy Tuesday. Apologies for not updating this weekend. We were both incredibly busy driving all over the state. MJCF leaves tomorrow afternoon (sob sob) and that's coincidentally also the day I go back to work. It will be a sad day all around.

MJCF: Sherlock  
Me: Greg

_Warnings for this chapter: Sherlock has a wet dream about Greg, feels, Sherstrade feels, daddy!Greg (NOT AGE PLAY), and a bit of angsty stuff._

* * *

Sherlock yawned loudly. 'Tired. Are we almost there, Greggy?'

'I was gonna stop at Tesco's first, but I suppose we can find a hotel first and go shopping later.' He drove around for a bit until he found a hotel far away from Myc's mansion. He parked the car in the lot and went inside to get them a room. Once he'd been given the keys, he went back outside and hoisted the sleeping Sherlock up and carried him in, ignoring the strange looks he got from the people at the bar. He carried Sherlock up to their room and laid him down on the bed, taking his shoes and jacket off and tucking him in. He went back out to the car and grabbed their things, boxes of pastries included. He stayed up, watching Sherlock sleep, and ate a couple small cakes while he waited for Sherlock to wake.

Sherlock whimpered and shook in his sleep. 'Greggy!' He cried out for the nice man. 'Greggy, I need you!' His dream started out as a horrible nightmare with Old Croft getting angry. It swiftly changed to a different scene. 'Oh god, Greggy! Mmm!' His hips jerked upwards in his sleep and his body turned bright red. 'Gah! Greggy!'

Greg groaned but made no move toward Sherlock. He needed to work through that wet dream on his own. He wasn't about to make it worse with his presence. He decided a cold shower was in order, so he got up and moved to the bathroom, turning the water on icy cold and stripping quickly before standing beneath the freezing water.

Sherlock felt sticky again but the dreams were now gone. He slept on peacefully in a dreamless sleep.

Greg emerged from the shower freezing cold but refreshed. Sherlock was fast asleep again. Thank god. If he was gonna be having erotic dreams Greg wasn't gonna risk sharing a bed with him. He arranged time off work, citing a family emergency, but said he would be back Monday. No questions were asked. He fell asleep hunched over the table, snoring softly. He knew his back was going to kill him later but he didn't care. He didn't want to risk molesting Sherlock in his sleep.

Sherlock cracked open an eye and glanced across to the sleeping Greggy. He didn't look at all comfortable. Sherlock rolled from the bed and padded over to him. He slid an arm around Greggy's waist and levered him up. He'd discovered he was surprisingly strong for an eight year old. He plopped Greggy down on the bed and crawled in beside him, pulling the covers over them.

**...::-::…**

Greg woke a few hours later, sprawled on his back in the bed. What the hell? How had he gotten here? He glanced down and noticed Sherlock had curled possessively around him, head on his chest, arm around his waist, and a leg draped over his own. He groaned slightly but didn't budge. He was far too comfortable and exhausted to move. So he let his head fall back against the pillow and fell back into a dreamless sleep.

Sherlock awoke fully a good few hours later. He cuddled Greggy tighter and kissed his cheek.

'Greggy,' he whispered. 'I wuvv you.'

Greg groaned something in reply and let out a loud snore. He vaguely wondered what time it was but he fell back asleep before he could check.

'Greggy?' Sherlock whined. He rubbed himself against Greggy frantically. 'Greggy, wake up.'

'Mmm. Sh'lock? Whuz wrong?' Greg mumbled, yawning widely.

Sherlock sighed and rolled away from Greggy. 'Nothing. It doesn't matter.'

'Didn't sound like nuthin a second ago.' He turned to Sherlock and wrapped him up in a soft hug. 'Tell me what's going on.'

'It really doesn't matter. I just wanted to ask you why you constantly do something to me. I... just don't understand it.' Sherlock clenched his legs together, hiding the lump that had grown there.

_Oh good god. Please no._ Greg swallowed and moved away slightly.

'I'm certain it isn't me. It's your growing body changing and telling you what's happening. It's perfectly normal for you to experience these things at your age. I went through it too. But my dad told me a trick that's helped me a lot in the past, and I'm gonna tell it to you now.'

He took a deep breath before continuing. 'To get rid of the lump in your trousers, try thinking of the ickiest thing imaginable. Think about it so hard and for so long that there isn't a lump anymore. Or, if that doesn't work, because sometimes it won't, take a very cold shower or bath.'

Sherlock shook his head. 'I don't want to think of the ickiest thing imaginable. You have no idea how much that would hurt. Some of the things in my mind, Greggy... they aren't nice. They're terrifying.'

'A cold shower then. Plus you should clean yourself up. You're all sticky from that dream I heard you having.'

Sherlock blushed and curled in on himself. 'Sorry, Greggy. It won't happen again. Promise.'

'It's hard to control your dreams, Sherlock. It's fine. But trust me when I say your dreams aren't about me affecting you, it's your growing body. Now go take a shower. I'll get a few pastries out for ya.'

Sherlock scrabbled from the bed and hurried into the bathroom, his head hung in embarrassment. He quickly switched the shower on and hopped on in.

Greg hummed and rolled back over, trying not to fall back asleep. Further inspection revealed it to be just around midnight. Damn. He'd slept the night away. Great. Now he'd have to get up and take Sherlock out to Tesco's for some activities to keep him occupied. Wait... Was Tesco's even open twenty four hours? His sleep muddled brain wasn't allowing him to think properly. He groaned and got up, managed to put a box of pastries on the table for Sherlock, and then promptly plopped back onto the bed. He was too damn tired to stay up. He'd need coffee. And soon.

Sherlock shivered under the cold spray. It was a good kind of cold though. It calmed him and made his body behave itself. Once the shivering became too much he stepped out of the shower and turned the water off. He grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist. He glared at his reflection in the mirror right above the sink. It took every ounce of concentration in his eight year old mind to not lash out at the man staring back at him. Instead he turned and all but ran back into the room where Greggy was already falling back asleep. Sherlock sat on the edge of the bed, a frown driven into his features.

'Am I mad, Greggy? Am I crazy?'

'Mmm?' Greg cracked an eye open and looked at Sherlock, naked except for the towel wrapped around his waist. 'No. I dun think ya crazy. Why do ya think ya are?'

'Cus, look at me Greggy,' Sherlock whispered. 'I'm so... wrong.'

'No, you're not,' Greg assured him. 'You aren't wrong, or a freak, or whatever else you think you are. You're a smart boy who's just had bad things done to him. But I'm not gonna let that happen anymore.'

'I don't understand my life. It's... confusing. And sometimes I feel like I've lived another life. That I was someone else. Is that silly?'

_No. Not at all. Because you're the mind of a little boy in the body of a grown man. And he live and he loved and he lost everything. And I'm so sorry._

Instead of saying that, Greg merely shrugged and clasped one of Sherlock's hands. 'Yes, you silly boy. It's quite silly. I often feel that way, but then I realise I just had such a vivid dream that it all felt so real. You're not mad, you're growing. And it's perfectly normal to feel the way you do.'

'Don't do that. Don't lie to me, please. I don't like it when grown-ups lie. Just tell me the truth.'

Greg swallowed. 'I... I can't. You'd never believe me. And you'd leave again.'

'Try me, Greggy. Please?'

Greg sighed and went to grab his wallet. He pulled an old photo out of it and handed it to Sherlock. It was a shot of him and John. It was a stupid thing he'd taken while the three of them were investigating the Hound at Baskerville, taken outside the vegetarian bed and breakfast where they were all staying. And, as an added bonus, Sherlock was actually smiling in it. He didn't say anything at first, just let Sherlock look at it and absorb it.

Sherlock stroked the picture and tears swelled in his eyes. 'Nice man. Saw him at Tesco's once. He walked away from me. He's always out of my reach. He's always in my dreams. I carry him in my heart.'

'His name is John Watson. He's a doctor over at Bart's. You two... Well, at first you merely lived together. He was a great friend to you. And... he loved you. Not like I love you, mind you. He loved you in the way I love Myc. He wanted to marry you.'

'What happened?' Sherlock swallowed thickly. 'Why didn't we... I... what?'

'You... How do I explain this?' Greg paused and sat up. 'Before the bad man hurt you, you were a consulting detective. You helped the Yard solve complicated cases, but you helped me most often. You worked alone for five years until John came into the picture. He was a soldier in Afghanistan who had been injured and sent home. He became your partner and he helped you solve crimes. Then, and I'm not exactly sure when, you two fell in love and became a couple.

'But there was this man, a very, very bad man, worse than the man who hurt you, and he wanted Sherlock to stop investigating because he kept solving everything. He threatened and hurt you two quite often, until he finally got what he wanted. He made you kill yourself in order to save the three people you cared about most in the world. John, me, and your landlady.

'But you didn't kill yourself, seeing as you're right here in front of me. You faked your death to go after the man and stop him from committing more crimes. But you came back with the mentality of your five-year-old self. You're a child in the body of a grown man.'

He looked at Sherlock to gauge his reaction, swallowing thickly. He could react in any number of ways. Rage, fear, confusion, sorrow, or all of them at once. Greg just couldn't tell what Sherlock was thinking as he took in all that information.

Sherlock blinked. He didn't feel anger. He just felt numb. 'This explains a lot.' He laughed, though it held no humour. 'I am mad! Utterly mad! That's what he says. The voice inside my head.'

'Voice?' Now Greg was a little concerned. 'What voice?'

'It must be my older self trying to break through.'

'He's broken through a few times,' Greg admitted. 'Most recently before we left. I was crying because he said he didn't want to come back. And I miss him. He was a good man and a really great friend. He could just be a bit of a show off.'

'He wasn't showing off then,' Sherlock said softly. 'He really doesn't want to return. I can't hear him anymore.'

Greg sniffled and wiped at his eyes. _So Sherlock would really leave? Just like that? Damn it all to hell! Myc! You utter bastard! This is your fault!_

'I believe he's deleted himself,' Sherlock whispered. 'I'm sorry.'

'Deleted himself?' Greg choked out. 'Is that... Can he... No. Please no. I can't... I can't lose him again. No.'

'Blame Old Croft. He put my older self through so much... sadness. Maybe he just doesn't want to deal with him. Cus he's a monster.'

'But he can stay away from him!' Greg cried, tears running down his cheeks. 'He and John can get back together and heal and go away, far away from here and be happy! Is there a way to undelete things? Please! I just... He can't leave like this. It's unfair to everyone, but you especially.'

'From my understanding it's impossible to undelete things. Well... not impossible. Chances are it would make our body very ill.'

'Ill how?' Greg sniffled, looking up at Sherlock. He was still only wearing a towel, but neither of them seemed to mind.

Sherlock shrugged and sniffled. 'How does coma ill sound?'

'Not good at all. So... He's really gone?' He choked on a sob. 'I don't want to risk you falling into a coma just to get him back. I'm not that selfish. But if you meet John again I can't promise he'll feel the same as me. He might have you do it because... because he loves you and he wants to marry you. Last I saw of him he was still wearing your engagement ring.'

'He really loves me?' Sherlock asked in a small voice. 'I can barely remember him. I... what do I do? Greggy, what do I do?'

'Well, we'll let you heal a little more, grow up a bit. Then maybe we can go visit him. I don't know. I'll have to prepare him a bit. He still thinks you're dead.'

'He deserves to know, doesn't he? If he loves me. Why keep him away? He seems like a very nice man.'

'He _is_ a very nice man,' Greg smiled softly. 'But... he's not well right now. He should get better first before I tell him.'

'Not very well?' Sherlock crawled further onto the bed, the towel barely covering him now.

'No. Not well at all. He misses you terribly. So much so he's made himself dreadfully ill. Hmmm. Maybe seeing you're ok would do him some good. But I still think you should be a little older before you see him again.' He thought it over, blatantly ignoring Sherlock's falling towel.

Sherlock sighed loudly. 'Why must I make everyone so sad? Made Croft sad. Made you sad. Made nice man sad and ill.'

'We thought you were dead,' Greg said softly. 'We love you so much and we missed you terribly. We were sad because we missed you. And John is still sad because he still thinks you're dead.'

'Why did older me fake his death? It was silly. Didn't he care at all? Couldn't he have at least let you in on the lie?'

'He was protecting us from what I've gathered. Maybe he was told that if he didn't die then we would. And maybe we weren't to know because if we knew then we'd all be in danger again.'

'So he loved you all then. Lots and lots.' Sherlock crawled closer, cuddling up to Greggy.

'Yes. But he loved John the most.' Greg hugged Sherlock close and ran a hand through his growing curls, humming softly.

'Obviously not enough if he's deleted himself.' Sherlock closed his eyes and clutched Greggy tighter.

'I'd like to believe that he wouldn't do that. He couldn't leave John. They were... They were gonna have a family together. And they have a cat too. Her name's Lily. He rescued her. I think maybe he's hiding inside your head. Your mind palace is a big place. Are you sure he's deleted himself? Maybe he's hiding in there.'

'Croft pushed him over the edge. He was still in my mind when Croft hit me and yelled at me. Perhaps... perhaps he didn't think he had anything to come back to. That John wouldn't forgive him. That Croft would hurt him... no. He was worried that he'd kill Croft. He's so angry at him. Or he was before he deleted himself.'

'Croft is an idiot. Sherlock isn't. I don't think he'd delete himself. He's not that... I don't want to say stupid, but that's the only word coming to mind. Could you maybe search for him? I just want to know if he's really gone or if he's jus hiding. Please?'

Sherlock swallowed. 'Greggy, he's gone. He went. I felt him leave. He was an idiot.'

'I... I never got to say goodbye,' Greg sniffled. 'Both times. He just left.' He hugged Sherlock close and cried softly into his shoulder.

'Greggy,' Sherlock choked out. 'I could try to get him back. I'll try... for you.'

'No. No, it's ok,' Greg choked out. He pet Sherlock's hair soothingly. 'I've got you. That's better than no Sherlock at all.'

'You'll always have me. Not sure Croft likes this me though. I'm glad to be away from him. Though... Greggy, I made him cry. And the older Sherlock told me Croft was thinking of... of...' He fell into heavy sobs. 'Of killing himself so older Sherlock comes back. Dun wan him to die!'

'He threatened to... He and I shall have a very serious talk once we go back. But for now, let's get dressed and go to Tesco's. We can get you some new toys and some colouring books. Maybe some movies to watch. Ok?'

'You're tired,' Sherlock mumbled. 'Go sleep. We can go to Tesco's later.'

'Stay and cuddle me?' Greg yawned, pulling Sherlock closer to his chest.

'K. I'll cuddle you.' Sherlock entwined his legs with Greggy's and held onto him tightly.

'Thanks, love,' Greg hummed. He'd never been one for pet names, and he briefly wondered why it was Sherlock who suddenly brought them out. He'd called him love, dear, hun, and sweetie since he'd arrived. He didn't dwell on it long as he fell fast asleep, snoring lightly, with Sherlock cuddled to his chest.

* * *

Next chapter will be posted Saturday while I'm at work. I have a super long shift Saturday, so I'm allowed to bring my laptop to do stuff or to watch Netflix. We'll see you then.

~TSA + MJCF


	10. Chapter 10

Hello all, and good afternoon. Here's the next chapter, albeit a bit of a short one. There's a ton of Sherlock + Greg feels in this chapter, nonsexual so don't worry. Greg is basically Sherlock's dad now, and I think that's so sweet.

MJCF: Sherlock, Rotten Rick  
Me: Greg, Mycroft

_Warnings for this chapter: Sherstrade feels (nonsexual), forcibly taking drugs, drug overdose, Mystrade feels._

* * *

Sherlock fell asleep soon after, despite his mind trying to process all that Greggy had told him. When he awoke next, it was late afternoon and he was completely naked, the towel lost somewhere in the night.

Greg was back in the shower, having only taken a cold one last night and not properly washing himself. He made a mental note to buy proper shampoo and soap at Tesco's whenever they went. But for the time being he settled with the hotel's soap and shampoo. He dried himself off with Sherlock's used towel and entered the bedroom. Sherlock was awake and looking a bit dazed. Probably for sleeping so long and from all the information buzzing in his head.

'Hey,' he said gently. 'How're you feeling?'

'Dizzy.' Sherlock winced as he sat up in bed. 'Head hurts. Tired. Like I wanna cuddle.'

'Ok. We can cuddle. Want a cake? You're probably hungry. I'll let ya eat in bed.' He pulled on a pair of clean pants and offered Sherlock a pair as well. He then went to the Cake Boy boxes and selected a small chocolate cake. He grabbed two forks and sat by Sherlock on the bed, offering him a fork and holding the box between them. Sherlock instantly tucked into the cake greedily, his stomach growling loudly.

'Greggy,' he said through a mouthful of cake. 'I've been thinking.'

'Ok.' Greg swallowed a mouthful of cake and looked at Sherlock. 'What have you been thinking about?'

'What happens to me if he returns.'

'You mean older you?'

Sherlock swallowed thickly. 'Yes, older me. Does it mean I die? Cus I dun wanna die.'

'What? Why would you die? I just thought you two would merge into one Sherlock. Even if his mind does take over it doesn't mean you're dead. You're just hidden beneath the surface. Like he is. Was.'

'But it'll feel like dying cuz... cuz I'll be pushed back into the dark. And I don't like the dark. It's scary. Bye, bye me. Lost in the dark forever.'

'Look, you said he left, right? And you aren't gonna bring him back any time soon, so don't worry. You're gonna be alright.' He kissed Sherlock's forehead and ate another bite of cake.

'Of course, Greggy, if you say so,' Sherlock mumbled, his voice containing a small slither of sarcasm.

'Hey. Hey, look at me.' Greg crooked a finger under Sherlock's chin and tilted his face up. 'I'm not going to make any promises I can't keep, but so long as you don't go searching for your deleted memories you won't get lost in the dark. You're safe here with me, content as you are, and I love you. It's gonna be ok.'

Sherlock smiled weakly at Greggy. 'Not as much as you love my older self. You miss him dearly. If he returns you'll forget about me. You won't be sad if I leave. You'll forget about me.'

'How could I forget about you?' Greg frowned. He pulled Sherlock onto his lap and hugged him tenderly. 'I love you very much. And yes, while I loved older Sherlock too and miss him dearly, I have you now. And I get to watch you grow up into a great and wonderful man.'

Sherlock nuzzled Greggy's chest. 'What if I don't grow up? What if... I just stop? What if I'm eight for the rest of my life? What then?'

'Everyone grows up,' Greg assured him softly. 'And I don't think it would be possible for you to stop. Your brain is too smart for that. It will continue to grow and heal just as you do. And then, when it reaches the proper age for your body... I don't know. Maybe you'll start ageing normally again.'

'But even then I'm not going to be him. I'll be me.' Sherlock frowned. 'What was my older self like?'

'He was smart. Very smart,' Greg smiled, carding his fingers through Sherlock's hair. 'A proper genius. He could be a bit rude, but otherwise he was a decent bloke. He cared very much about his landlady Mrs Hudson. I think she was like a second mum to him. And John... John he loved with all his heart. I could see the change in his demeanour as soon as John entered his life. He was kinder, more patient, and he held his tongue just a bit better around stupid people.' He laughed slightly and kissed the top of Sherlock's head. 'He was a great friend to me, and he actually helped me work up the nerve to propose to Myc. Though, if his behaviour continues, we might not remain married for long.'

'He's upset that his brother has gone,' Sherlock stated quietly. 'I'm not good enough for him. That's why he gets mad all of the time. It's not his fault.'

'He has bipolar mood swings,' Greg explained softly. 'He can't really control them, though the medication helps. But yes, he's still quite upset that Sherlock has gone. He misses him dearly and just wants his brother back. Though I can understand why Sherlock wouldn't want to return.'

'My older self wouldn't have hesitated in killing Croft. If he ever does come back then the first thing he'll do is kill him. Maybe that's why he deleted himself. He was scared of hurting Croft. Scared of being bad.'

'I wouldn't have been able to forgive him if he did kill Myc,' Greg muttered sadly. 'So maybe his deletion was for the best.'

Sherlock sighed softly. 'Why was my older self so angry? It felt like he was angry at everything. Like Croft, but far worse.'

'I don't know,' Greg answered honestly. 'Maybe it was because the bad man who forced him to disappear made him miss his own wedding. He and John were going to be married in two days. Perhaps he's angry he missed out on his future.'

'Mmm. Maybe,' Sherlock agreed. 'But it felt like... there was something dark within him.'

'Like, he would kill someone?'

Sherlock swallowed and nodded. 'Yeah.'

'Oh,' was all Greg could say.

'Oh?' Sherlock repeated quietly. 'Is that a bit not good?'

'A bit, yes. Killing someone is never a good thing, no matter your reasons.'

Sherlock nodded, and closed his eyes. 'Even if he is deleted, he's a part of me. What if... what if I end up killing someone?'

'Honestly? I don't think you have it in ya. Maybe he did, but he's not here anymore. You have the chance to be better than that.' He kissed Sherlock's head and hummed. 'Why don't we get dressed and go to Tesco's? We can get you some new toys, colouring books, maybe a movie to watch. Plus I need better shampoo and some food for me. Come on. Up. Turn that frown upside down. Let's get outside and enjoy the rest of the afternoon.'

Sherlock couldn't help but smile. Greggy always made him feel better. 'K. What should I wear? My pirate bee costume?'

'Yeah. Go ahead,' Greg said. He kissed Sherlock's cheek and stood up, moving over to their suitcase and pulling on a fresh pair of jeans and a t-shirt. Sherlock grinned and instantly scrabbled off the bed. He grabbed his pirate bee costume and got dressed as quickly as possible.

'Arrr!' he chorused once he was fully dressed.

'You look like an excellent pirate bee,' Greg said with a smile. 'Put your shoes on, Mr Pirate.' Greg sat and put on his own shoes, watching Sherlock struggling slightly with his laces.

'Want some help?' he asked with a soft smile.

Sherlock blushed and nodded. 'Can't do knots,' he said, pouting.

'I'll teach ya.' He knelt down by Sherlock's feet and placed his foot on his knee. He demonstrated how to tie a knot multiple times before asking Sherlock to try.

Sherlock carefully gathered the laces in his hands and after a good few failed attempts managed to tie a knot. He grinned at Greggy.

'Thank you, Greggy.'

'You're quite welcome, Sherlock,' he smiled. 'Now tie the other one.'

Sherlock managed to tie the other shoe with more ease. He giggled and thrust himself at Greggy to hug him tightly.

'Great job, Sherlock,' Greg laughed, hugging him tight. 'I'm proud of ya.'

'Thanks, Daddy' Sherlock said softly, not wanting Greggy to hear the name he'd been calling him in his head.

'Hmm? You say something?' Greg pulled back to look at Sherlock, noting his flushed cheeks and how he wasn't meeting his gaze. Was he embarrassed? What for?

'I said thanks... Greggy.' Sherlock swallowed and blushed a deeper shade of red.

Greg frowned slightly in worry and curiosity. What was Sherlock so embarrassed about? He decided to drop it. They really did need to go out shopping.

'You're quite welcome. Now let's go.' He kissed the top of Sherlock's head and hauled him to his feet.

Sherlock nodded quietly, still averting his gaze from Greggy. He didn't want Greggy to find out he called him Daddy behind his back. Sherlock knew it was wrong to call him Daddy. Greggy would probably tell him off.

'Hey, it's ok. Come on. Let's go for a walk.' He clasped Sherlock's hand and pocketed his wallet and the key to the room. He lead them out of the hotel and outside, the weather absolutely beautiful and perfect. Greg hummed and smiled up at the sky, perfectly content and happy.

Sherlock squeezed Greggy's hand tightly. 'Where are we gonna go? Can I have an ice cream?'

'We're going to Tesco's for some food and activities for you. But yes, we can get ice cream on the way.' There were vendors everywhere that time of year, selling a wide assortment of snacks and foods. It was pretty easy to find an ice cream vendor.

'What flavour do you want, Sherlock?' Greg asked.

'Chocolate pwease,' Sherlock grinned.

'Alright. Two chocolates please,' Greg told the vendor.

'That'll be five pounds,' the man said as he scooped out their cones. Greg fished out his wallet and found a five pound note, waiting for the man to finish before giving him the money.

Sherlock heard a faint buzzing sound. He turned around and much to his joy saw a little buzzy bee. He watched sadly as the little bee flew away. Why did they always fly away? He began running after the little creature, unnoticed by Greggy. He ran and ran until the little creature flew out of sight. Sighing and preparing to go back to Greggy, who was probably worried by now, he found that he was well and truly lost. He'd run perhaps too far. He didn't know where he was and the van which sold the ice creams and Greggy were well out of sight.

'Well, what do we have here? It's Sherlock!'

Sherlock jumped out of his skin and spun around. His heart began hammering in his chest. It was the man. The man he'd met by Cake Boy.

'Yes, err... that's me,' he said, his voice so tiny it sounded like a squeak.

'I've got something for you. To make you rue the day you came into my brother's life.'

Sherlock frowned. He didn't really understand what the man was saying but it didn't sound good. It didn't sound good in the slightest.

'What is it?'

'This.' Rotten Rick, as Sherlock now recalled was the name of the man, handed him a long, pointy, needle type thing.

Sherlock swallowed. He didn't like needles. They made him feel queazy. 'What is it? What does it do?'

Rotten Rick seemed to study him for a long while before laughing darkly. 'It's a special medicine... that makes you into a real pirate.'

'A real pirate?!'

'Yep. All ya gotta do is inject it into ya. Like this, see?' The man gestured to how it worked.

'It'll really make me into a pirate?!'

'Yep. Like I told you. All ya gotta do is inject it into ya arm.'

Sherlock rather nervously angled the sharp needle against the pale flesh of his arm. He wanted to be a real pirate! Wait till he told Greggy! The sharp needle thing slipped into his arm and the liquid in it poured into his veins.

Sherlock quickly learned that the liquid didn't make him into a pirate. He was lost in a world of screaming and agony.

Greg paid the ice cream man and turned to hand a cone to Sherlock. But he was gone. Where had he run off to this time? He sighed and started walking along the block, licking at the ice creams so they wouldn't melt too bad. But after he'd been searching for five minutes and still hadn't found Sherlock he began to panic.

He quickly passed the ice creams to a young couple, stating he was trying to find his son and no longer needed them. They accepted the cones with mixed confusion but the girl wished Greg luck in finding his boy. Greg dashed off, calling Sherlock's name, panicking now. Where had he gone? Where the hell was he?

'Sherlock!' he cried at the top of his lungs, hoping he'd hear.

'Greggy!' Sherlock screamed, flailing on the ground, heart thumping far too fast in his chest, and vomit spilling out of his mouth in the bucket loads.

'Sherlock!' Greg screamed, turning frantically in the middle of the street. 'Sherlock! I'm here! Keep shouting! I'll find you!'

'Greggy! Greggy help!' Sherlock called out hoarsely as vomit continued to flood from his mouth and his heart sped up further.

'Sherlock!' Greg cried, running off toward an alley, whipping out his flashlight to shine down the alley. He found Sherlock writhing on the floor covered in vomit, foaming at the mouth. Oh no. No. Not an overdose. Where the hell had he gotten the drugs?

'I'm taking you to a hospital,' he said, scooping Sherlock up in his arms and carrying him out to the mouth if the alley and dialling an ambulance. He gave them their location and held Sherlock against his chest, not even caring he was vomiting all over his clothes.

'Greggy! Greggy, I dun like this! Help! Please! I...I...' Sherlock's eyes widened dramatically before sliding shut. His breathing became practically non-existent and his heart slowed to a dull thud.

'Oh god. No. No! Sherlock!' Greg quickly laid him down and began giving him CPR, trying to keep him breathing and his heart beating. Where the bloody hell was the ambulance?! Sherlock lay completely still. Even with the CPR he was receiving his heart was still pumping slowly and his breathing was shallow and barely there.

'Come on, Sherlock. Come on!' Greg cried, his composure slipping. 'You can't leave me like this! Please!'

He vaguely registered the ambulance's sirens approaching. People were dragging him off Sherlock, attaching Sherlock to a breathing apparatus, and wheeling him away into the ambulance. A blanket was draped over Greg's shoulders but he barely registered anything. Just looked down at his empty hands, lacking Sherlock's solid body in them.

Sherlock was rushed into hospital. He almost died several times on the way but by some miracle survived long enough for the ambulance to get to the hospital. The nurses and the doctors worked on him for hours. They held very little hope that he'd survive.

Greg wasn't sure when he made it to the ICU waiting room, but he was sitting in a chair, shock blanket draped over his shoulders, and a steaming mug of coffee in his hands. He blinked and looked up. Mycroft was sitting next to him.

'He may have the mentality of a child, but he's still my brother,' Myc said softly. 'I still worry about him constantly.'

'Did you get the guy who drugged him?'

'He has been apprehended, yes.'

'You need to stop hitting him,' Greg stated bluntly. 'And no more selling him out to criminals. You fucking idiot. Why would you do that?'

'I honestly don't know,' Myc admitted. 'I thought Sherlock would be able to beat him. Yes, I ruined Sherlock in the process, but Moriarty was defeated. But I'm already working on clearing his name. And... I made him this.' He pulled a wooden sword out of his briefcase, stuffing it back inside before a nurse could see.

'I made him one just like it back when he was actually eight,' he explained. 'I figured he should have another. And I hope it will be the start to a long apology from me.'

'Good. You need to start taking your meds again, Myc. Please. Get a stronger dose. These aren't working very well anymore. Stop abusing him. He's scared to death of you.'

'I know. I just hope I'll be able to get in his good books again. I don't want to be hated by two different versions of Sherlock. I... I'm going to do my best to be a better brother this time. God knows Sherlock deserves it.'

'Yes. He does. And a proper family life as well. No more cake binging for a while. Maybe once a month as a special treat. But no more. I need to lose some weight. And so do you.'

'Agreed. But for now let's not focus on that. Sherlock is going to need is when he wakes. Drink your coffee.'

'Yeah. Ok. Thanks.' Greg sipped the hot drink and sighed, inhaling the scent of the coffee. 'I just hope he's gonna be ok.'

'Me too, Gregory. Me too.'

* * *

Poor little Sherlock. Rotten Rick got to him, but the bad man has been caught. He won't be selling to anyone for a long time, and he won't be able to hurt Sherlock anymore either. Sherlock will be alright though, but that doesn't mean there won't be any damage left behind.

New chapter next Saturday. Until then!

~TSA + MJCF


	11. Chapter 11

Good afternoon everyone. I will be posting two chapters of _Second Star_ today because this one is super short. It was only 5 typed pages. Now that is inexcusable. So you get two chapters as a special treat. Also, the Doctor and Sam make a cameo appearance ;)

MJCF: Sherlock, Dr Smith, Mycroft  
Me: Greg

_Warnings for this chapter: Mystrade feels, overdose recovery, Holmes brother feels._

* * *

A doctor came out of the Sherlock's room, his face grave. He walked over to the two men.

'Hello,' he smiled weakly. 'My name is Dr Smith. You can go and see Sherlock now, but I'm warning you that he has suffered some damage to his heart due to the overdose. He'll be asleep for a long while to come and it's likely his body will have severe cravings, considering his past drug abuse, when he awakes.'

'Heart damage?' Greg choked out, clutching Myc's hand tight. 'How bad is it? What won't he be able to do anymore?'

'It isn't too severe,' Dr Smith reasured him. 'But I'd advise lots of rest and not much activity for at least a couple of months. As long as he isn't planning to race in the London Marathon he should be ok. However, if complications do arrive then open heart surgery would be the most logical option.'

'Surgery?' Greg said barely above a whisper.

'He's going to be ok, Gregory,' Mycroft said, rubbing a hand down his arm soothingly. 'Just lots of rest and he should be ok. May we go see him?' he said to the doctor.

'Yes of course. He's attached to a lot of wires but it looks worse than it is,' Dr Smith smiled sympathetically. 'Now if you'll excuse me I've got to go looking for Eleven and Sam. Honestly it's like looking after a baby giraffe and a hyperactive moose.' He quickly took his leave.

'Eleven and Sam?' Greg muttered, completely and utterly confused. But the doctor had already dashed off, thankfully not before going them Sherlock's room number.

'Maybe they're therapy dogs?' Myc suggested. He pulled Greg up out of the chair and they walked to Sherlock's room. The man was indeed hooked up to a bunch of wires, a breathing tube down his throat, and an IV attached to an arm. He looked frail and weak and just about dead. How the hell was he alive?

Greg took a seat by Sherlock's side, grasping a hand tight. He smoothed a thumb over his knuckles and brought his hand up to his lips, kissing it softly.

'I'm sorry, Sherlock. I'm so sorry,' he whispered.

'He'll be ok,' Myc said again, squeezing Greg's shoulder reassuringly. 'I'll stay until he wakes up. And then I'll only stay long enough to apologise and give him the sword. I don't want him having a fit if he sees me staying here for too long.'

'Ok. Ok. Understandable,' Greg sniffled. 'But right now stay here with me. Ok?'

'Always, Gregory. Always.'

**...::-::...**

It was late at night by the time Sherlock began to rouse. He groaned loudly around the tube aiding him with breathing. He winced open his eyes and instantly panicked as he saw Old Croft. Gregory was fast asleep so it was up to Mycroft to aid Sherlock, no matter how much the man clearly didn't want it. He pushed the nurse call button and when one arrived he immediately sedated Sherlock just enough to get the breathing tube out without paining him.

'His throat is gonna hurt for a couple days, so make sure he drinks enough fluids,' he told Mycroft.

'Yes. Of course. Thank you.' The nurse nodded and left.

Sherlock dreamt of bees, honey, and pirates. He slept on till morning, where he arose once more.

Greg was awake this time, Myc fast asleep. He was trying to read Sherlock's chart of his vitals. When he heard a small, 'Greggy,' he turned to look at Sherlock and smiled warmly.

'Hi, Sherlock,' he said softly, moving to the side of the bed and smoothing down his hair. 'How're ya feeling?'

'Not good. Throat hurts,' Sherlock croaked.

'I can get you some water. Would that help?'

Sherlock shook his head. 'Dun wan ya to leave. Scared, Greggy.'

'There's a sink in here silly,' Greg snickered. 'I don't have to go anywhere. But why are you scared? Is it Croft? Or that the man lied to you about the... medicine? We found him, by the way. He's been taken to jail. He won't hurt you again.'

'He told me it'd make me into a real pirate,' Sherlock frowned. 'And I'm scared cus I dun like hospitals or Croft.'

'You won't be here long. I'll be taking you back to the hotel after you recover a bit. And Croft is here to apologise. Even brought you a present. So please, just listen. He told me he'd leave as soon as he gave you the gift. Can you do that for me? Please?'

Sherlock was still wary but he nodded. 'K. I'll listen.'

'Good boy.' Greg kissed his forehead and moved to wake Mycroft up.

'Myc? Myc. He's awake,' he said as he shook the man gently. He grunted and blinked a bleary eye open.

'Be gentle,' Greg whispered before going to the sink to get Sherlock some water. Myc grunted something but didn't move right away. Instead he focussed on waking himself up. Greg took care of Sherlock, putting the cup of water by his lips. Sherlock sipped at the water slowly, the cooling liquid bringing his throat a little relief.

'Thanks, Greggy,' he said weakly.

'You're welcome,' he smiled gently. He glanced over to Myc who was sitting up now. 'I'll stay right here while he talks to you, ok? I won't let him hurt you.'

Sherlock eyed Old Croft warily, like a deer in headlights. 'K, Greggy. I trust you.'

'Squeeze my hand really tight if you don't like what he's saying and I'll make him stop.' He took one of Sherlock's hands in his and squeezed it gently.

Sherlock squeezed Greggy's hand back and smiled lightly.

'K. I'm listening,' he said, turning his eyes to Old Croft. Mycroft stood up slowly and held his hands at his sides, making sure they weren't curled into fists. He looked at Sherlock as softly as he could manage and released a loud sigh.

'Sherlock, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for all the awful things I've said and done to you. I know you won't believe me, but I am sorry. I don't expect you to forgive me anytime soon, but please come home soon. I promise to make things better. Starting with this.'

He opened his briefcase and pulled out the wooden sword. He gave it to Gregory to give to Sherlock. Sherlock took the sword and inspected it carefully.

'Is this for me?' He grinned broadly at Old Croft. 'Did... did you make this for me?'

'Yes,' Myc smiled softly. 'I made it for you. Turn it over. It has your name on it.'

Sherlock flipped the wooden sword over and his grin widened. He ran his fingers over the letters engraved into the sword.

'For me.' He laughed loudly. 'Thanks, Croft.'

'You're welcome, Sherlock. Have fun with it. I'll be going now.' He closed the briefcase and picked it up, straightening out his suit before nodding to Greg and Sherlock. 'Have fun on your adventure,' he said before leaving.

Sherlock frowned. 'Why did he go? Didn't wan him to go. Made me a nice sword. He wasn't angry. Why'd he go?'

'He wasn't sure you'd want him to stay,' Greg said softly. 'He told me while we were waiting outside that he wasn't gonna stay. He didn't want to make you uncomfortable seeing as you're scared of him.'

'I'm only scared when he gets mad. I dun like it when he gets mad.' Sherlock sighed. 'He's really sorry, isn't he?'

'Yes, he is,' Greg said softly. 'I don't like him when he's mad either. But he told me he's going to try to be better.' He smoothed Sherlock's hair down and smiled softly. 'You know, we never did get to have our ice cream. D'ya still want some?'

Sherlock shook his head and pulled a face. 'I dun feel well. Dun wanna eat.'

'Ok. Do you want some more water?'

'Just wan sleep,' Sherlock mumbled, eyes already slipping shut. 'What did that man give me? I really dun feel good.'

'He... He gave you a very bad drug. You almost... didn't come back. But you can go to sleep now. I'll be here when you wake. Promise.'

'Can you snuggle me while I sleep?' Sherlock asked quietly.

'Yeah. I can do that.' He scootched Sherlock over and laid down beside him, taking his hand again and kissing his knuckles. 'Sleep well, Sherlock. I love you.'

'Love you too, Greggy.' Sherlock snored and fell into a deep sleep.

Greg didn't sleep while Sherlock did. He stayed awake, cuddling him in the small hospital bed. The nurses always gave him weird looks when they passed by, but Greg thought nothing of it. Sherlock wasn't his boyfriend, he was his brother. Though he felt more like a son right now. He could have sworn he heard Sherlock call him daddy earlier, but he must have heard wrong. He waved a nurse over when she passed by and slowly climbed from the bed, making sure Sherlock didn't wake.

'Can you watch over him while I go do some shopping?' he whispered. 'He doesn't like to be alone. I should be back in ten minutes.'

'Sure,' she smiled softly. 'Go ahead. He'll be fine.'

'If he wakes before I get back, which he might, tell him I went to Tesco's, ok?'

'Sure thing. Go.' She waved him off and began checking Sherlock's vitals, sitting in the chair next to the bed to watch over him. Greg dashed out of the hospital and towards Tesco's, grabbing some crayons, colouring books, and some travel size shampoo for himself. He would take Sherlock back later to find a movie. He didn't want to pick one Sherlock wouldn't like. When he got back, Sherlock was still sleeping but his hand was grabbing for Greg in his sleep. He thanked the nurse and dismissed her, resuming his place in the bed and holding Sherlock to him as he slept on.


	12. Chapter 12

Second chapter of the day, as promised!

MJCF: Sherlock  
Me: Greg  
Shared: Dr Smith

_Warnings for this chapter: tooth-rotting fluff_

* * *

Sherlock awoke gently. He snuggled up to the warm body next to him.

'Hi, Daddy,' he whispered softly. Greg tensed slightly but couldn't stop the swell of pride and warmth that radiated through his chest. He relaxed and hugged Sherlock close, kissing his temple.

'Hi son,' he whispered back.

'You don't mind me calling you daddy?' Sherlock whispered softly.

'No. Not at all,' Greg said equally as soft. 'Because I've been thinking of you as my son for quite some time now.'

Sherlock grinned. 'Wuvv you, Daddy.'

'Love you too.' He kissed Sherlock's forehead again and hummed. 'Feeling a little better?'

'A little,' Sherlock nodded. 'But my arm's really itchy.'

'Yeah. It'll be like that for a while,' Greg said softly, inspecting the red bumps by the injection site. 'But please do your best not to scratch, ok? It's like chicken pox. The more you scratch the worse it gets.'

'But it's really itchy!' Sherlock exclaimed, his fingers brushing over the red bumps.

'No.' Greg moved his hand away and called for a nurse. She immediately saw the bumps and applied an itch cream before bandaging Sherlock's arm.

'Please try not to scratch, Sherlock,' Greg said softly. 'Want to colour to take your mind off the itch?'

'Yeah. Colour! Did you buy a colouring book, Daddy?' Sherlock smiled widely.

'I bought two,' Greg smiled, sliding off the bed and shifting Sherlock's bed up. He moved the table over so it rested over Sherlock's lap and then grabbed the Tesco bag. He pulled out a pirate book and an animal book, hoping that there would be some bees to colour inside.

'And I got a big box of crayons too,' he grinned at Sherlock's ecstatic face. He pulled out the 64 crayon box and sat it by the books. He sat across from Sherlock on the bed and opened the box of crayons. 'What do you want to colour first?'

'Pirates!' Sherlock chorused joyously, a permanent smile scrawled on his features.

'Ok. I'll colour some animals.' Greg handed Sherlock the pirate book and opened the animal book to a striped cat. He immediately thought of Lily and decided to colour the cartoon cat like her. He pulled out an orange crayon and slowly started colouring, making sure to stay in the lines. Sherlock happily dove into the pirate colouring book. He chose to colour in a picture of two pirates fighting. He coloured it in so it looked just like Daddy and himself. Once he was done he burst into a fit of giggles.

'What'd ya colour?' Greg asked, looking up from his Lily cat.

'Us, Daddy, look.' Sherlock showed him the picture of the curly haired pirate fighting the slightly bigger, silver-haired pirate.

'Oh! Looks like we're having fun,' Greg smiled.

'Lots of fun! Wanna become a pirate with me?'

'Sure. But not in hospital. When we get back to the hotel. We can go swimming and play pirates in the pool.'

'Ok, Daddy. We'll be pirates then. And I can use my wooden sword!'

'I'll see if Myc can make me one too. Maybe we can all be pirates one day.'

Sherlock giggled. 'Croft is a super pirate! He makes people walk the plank!'

'Yes he does,' Greg laughed. 'Colour a Croft pirate.'

Sherlock giggled and chose a suitable pirate. He was a little bit plump and lazy looking, but he looked quite fierce too. Greg continued colouring in the Lily cat. She was coming along nicely. He was working on her eyes when Sherlock tapped his shoulder gently.

'Finish your Croft pirate?' he asked with a grin.

Sherlock nodded eagerly and held it up for his daddy to see. 'Do you like it? I know pirates don't normally eat cake but I thought for Croft I could make an exception.'

'Pirates can eat cake if they want it. They probably steal it from the ships they plunder.' He looked at the Mycroft pirate and laughed. 'Looks a lot like him though. You colour really well.'

'Thanks, Daddy,' Sherlock grinned. 'What shall I colour in next?'

'A pirate ship,' Greg smiled. 'I'm gonna finish my kitty and then you can look for a bee to colour in here.'

'What's your kitty called?' Sherlock asked, peering over to have a look at it. 'She's pretty.'

'Her name's Lily,' Greg smiled. 'And yeah, she's very pretty. And a good girl.'

Sherlock smirked. 'We should bring her over to visit Sher. He'd like her.'

'You remember Lily?' Greg asked, looking up from his picture.

Sherlock shrugged. 'Sometimes I dream about my other life.'

'What do you dream about?' Greg asked softly. 'Nice things?'

'Sometimes,' Sherlock smiled. 'Really nice things. Other times... not so nice things.'

'Do you dream more about the nice things than the bad?'

'No. Mainly bad things. Scary dreams.'

'Like what? Or do you not want to tell me?'

'Dun wanna tell you.' Sherlock worried at his lips. 'Bad things, Daddy. Really bad things.'

'Are they just dreams or do they feel like memories?' he asked softly.

'Memories.' Sherlock's lower lip trembled.

'Oh, hun. Come here.' He moved the table aside and moved up to hold Sherlock in his arms. Sherlock wasn't quite sure why but he burst into tears and became a shaking ball in his daddy's arms.

'Shhh. It's ok, Lock. Shhh. Go ahead and cry. Get it all out.' He hugged Sherlock close and pressed tender kisses to the top of his head.

'I hate this! I just wanna be normal! I don't like this! Help me Daddy. Please! Help me!'

'What can I do, Sherlock?' Greg said, hugging Sherlock close. 'What do you need?'

'I need my life to make sense! I need the bad dreams to stop! Wanna go home!'

'You want to go home? Back to Croft?'

Sherlock choked out a small 'yes' and clutched his daddy tighter.

'Ok. We'll go home today.' He hugged Sherlock close and hummed softly. He wasn't sure exactly what he was humming but it quickly morphed into what sounded like a Disney song. Sherlock's sobs subsided and he smiled into his daddy's chest.

'Love you, Daddy. Wanna be just like you when I grow up.'

'You wanna be a police officer when you grow up?' Greg asked with a small smile.

Sherlock grinned and nodded enthusiastically. 'Wanna help Daddy solve crimes.'

'Ok. Yeah. You can work with me. Maybe I'll take you to work one day. But you can only talk to me if I do, ok?'

Sherlock looked puzzled. 'Why, Daddy?'

'Because the people at work still think you're dead,' Greg explained softly. 'In your other life you worked with me, but you weren't a police officer. You were a consulting detective. You helped put a lot of bad guys away. But a few people didn't like your helping. But they were just jealous of how smart you were. So please, if I take you to work, only speak to me, ok?'

'Ok, Daddy. Can I go to your work soon? Wanna see what you do.'

'Soon, yes. But I don't know when. I'll work something out. Promise.'

'Thank you, Daddy. Wuvv you, Daddy.'

'Love you too, Sherlock.' He kissed his forehead and sighed softly. 'Ready to go home? I think you can go now.'

'Yup! Wanna go home! Wanna go home! Please, Daddy!'

'Easy. Settle down. You're gonna have to rest for a couple months because your heart was hurt quite a bit.' He pressed the call button and summoned a nurse.

'We'd like to go home. Is he ok to leave?'

'I'll check him over before he's dismissed,' she nodded. Greg slid off the bed and allowed the nurse to check Sherlock over. He packed up the colouring books and crayons, waiting patiently out of the way as the nurse completed her checkup.

'Can I go home?' Sherlock asked the nurse, his eyes hopeful.

'Yes, sweetie, you can go home. Let me just get the doctor and he'll write you a prescription for your pain and to help you sleep at night.'

Sherlock's eyes widened. 'Pain?'

'For your withdrawals,' Greg explained when the nurse scuttled off. 'The drug the bad man gave you is very addictive and you're going to want more. You'll get headaches and you'll refuse to eat or sleep. So the pills are going to help you get better.'

'I dun wanna be in pain. I dun wanna hurt, Daddy.' Sherlock swallowed loudly. 'Why did the bad man give me the drug? What did I do wrong? Why didn't I turn into a real pirate?'

'He lied to you, Sherlock,' Greg said, sitting back on the bed and pulling Sherlock into his lap. 'In your other life you bought drugs from the bad man's brother. But we caught him and put him in jail. The bad man was mad and wanted revenge. So he gave you a very dangerous dose of a very addictive drug to hurt you. But you're going to be ok. We caught the bad man and he's gonna be in jail too.'

'Why did older me buy drugs?' Sherlock asked, a little befuddled. 'Why would he wanna end up in hospital? Was he insane?'

'No. He didn't do drugs to end up in hospital. He took them because they slowed down his very fast brain. But then he started helping me and he got a lot better. Even more so when he met John, the nice blonde haired man in your head.'

'I can't wait to meet him in real life. Do you think he'll like this version on me?' Sherlock nibbled on his lower lip.

'I don't know,' Greg said honestly. 'I'd like to think that he would, but I think he'd be scared and confused at first. But I'm sure he'd grow to like the new you.'

Sherlock smiled softly and glanced up at the door as the same doctor that had helped him earlier came walking through the door.

'Hello, Mr Holmes. I'm Doctor Smith. Remember me?' Sherlock nodded. 'Good,' Doctor Smith continued. 'How are you feeling right now?'

'Mmm ok,' Sherlock mumbled shyly, burying his head in his daddy's shoulder.

'He's shy,' Greg explained. 'And he really wants to go home. Could you explain to him what's gonna happen to him during his withdrawals? He doesn't exactly remember the other times he went through them.'

Sherlock peeped out at the doctor but still kept his face partially hidden in his daddy's chest. He listened as the doctor explained what was going to happen to him, his eyes widening by the second.

'Of course, your family will be with you every step of the way,' the doctor concluded, looking at Greg with a soft smile.

'Yes, of course,' he readily agreed. 'Myc and I will be at your service, Sherlock. Anything you need, anything at all, we'll help you with it. Promise.'

Sherlock whimpered and nuzzled his daddy's chest, nodding silently.

'And this blatant brain injury,' the doctor mused. 'When did it start?'

'As far as I know, a few months ago,' Greg said softly, petting Sherlock's hair. 'He was dumped on my husband's doorstep some months ago, tortured and bloodied beyond belief. He had the mentality of a five year old at the time. Now he's eight. He'll probably be nine soon. He seems to age a year a month. At least mentally.'

'Is he aware of his situation?'

'Yes. I told him the other day. He's a child in the body of a thirty-seven-year-old man. He knows what's going on.'

'Ok. Well, if you two need anything while his mind heals or during the detox and withdrawals, don't hesitate to call. You're free to go home now.'

'Take me home, Daddy,' Sherlock pleaded softly. 'I dun like it here. Wanna go home.'

'Daddy?' The doctor raised an eyebrow at the two men, clearly assessing their age difference and coming up with a number in the single digits.

'He thinks he's eight,' Greg said again. 'To him I'm his dad. Now go. I'll call if we need anything.'

'Of course. Yes. I need to search for Sam anyway. Seems he's wandered off again. Come along Ruby.' The nurse followed the doctor out of the room, leaving Sherlock and Greg alone.

'Come on, Lock. Let's go home,' Greg smiled softly.

'Can you carry me?' Sherlock asked quietly. 'My legs feel funny. Dunno if I'd be able to walk.'

'Sure, love.' Greg stood and grabbed the Tesco bags first, securing them before moving to grab Sherlock. 'Hold on tight,' he said as he picked Sherlock up, cradling an arm under his bum as he hoisted him up, Sherlock's legs dangling by his sides.

Sherlock gripped onto him tightly. 'Thank you, Daddy.' He kissed his daddy's cheek.

'You're welcome, love. Come on. Let's go home.' He carried Sherlock out of the room and outside into the fresh-yet-dry August air. A sleek black car was waiting for them at the kerb. Greg helped Sherlock inside and put the bags in the boot, noting that the suitcase from the hotel as well as all the Cake Boy boxes were inside. Courtesy of Mycroft.

'And what's been done with my car?' Greg asked the driver as he sat beside Sherlock.

'It has been driven home, sir,' the man answered.

'Oh. Well. Ok then.' Greg huffed and looked out the window, trying not to fall asleep just yet. He could sleep once he got home. Maybe with Sherlock curled against him. They both seemed to sleep better that way.

Sherlock clutched his daddy tightly. 'Can you sing to me, Daddy?' he asked softly. 'Wan ya to sing to me so I can sleep.'

'Sure. I can sing to ya.' He held Sherlock a little closer and smoothed a hand through his hair. Then he began singing softly.

_'Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me._

_We pillage plunder, we rifle and loot. Drink up me 'earties, yo ho._

_We kidnap and ravage and don't give a hoot. Drink up me 'earties, yo ho. Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me.'_

Sherlock closed his eyes, a big, sleepy smile frozen on his features. 'Wuvv you, Daddy. Gonna go t' sleep.'

'Ok. Go to sleep my little pirate.' Greg continued to hum the song when he reached parts where he didn't know the words, smoothing a hand through Sherlock's curls all the while. Sherlock fell asleep easily, the song pulling him into some lovely pirate filled dreams. Greg continued to hum the song as they arrived home. The driver opened the door for him and he slid out, still humming, and carried Sherlock to the guest room. He helped him out of his clothes so he was only in his pants and then helped him into bed. He then stripped off his own clothes except for his pants and t-shirt and crawled in next to Sherlock. He hummed until he felt he'd reached the end of the song and closed his eyes, listening to Sherlock's deep breathing as he too fell asleep.

* * *

Next chapter has Holmes family quality time. So lots more fluff with just a tiny bit of angst due to Sherlock's withdrawal symptoms. But everything will be OK. People are learning and adapting and soon John will come back into the picture. And what a glorious time it will be.

New chapter next Sunday! See you then!

TSA + MJCF


End file.
